


Wounds of the Unloved

by bloodreddahlia



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 27,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8257484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodreddahlia/pseuds/bloodreddahlia
Summary: "Nothing else wounds so deeply and irreparably. Nothing else robs us of hope so much as being unloved by one we love”― Clive Barker





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a character study of Petyr and Sansa (hence lack of big supporting cast) set in an AU written somewhat in the style of a bodice ripper. It has some parallels with my other SansaxPetyr fic in some ways but it is stylistically quite different. The language is quaint and more formal and expect a lot of melodrama. AU time period is fluid but I'm thinking 1790's or early 1800's. And just in case anybody wonders my Sansa is of age but is very innocent in the ways of the world.  
> *I love feedback so any comments gratefully received.

She woke with a start sitting bolt upright suddenly aware of a presence beside her, perched on the edge of the bed. A hand shot out and clamped over her mouth stifling the instinctive scream that had begun to surge up her throat.  
“Sssssh. It is alright. It is just me.”  
From the timbre of his voice, smooth and silky, and the slightly lilting quality of it, she knew in that moment that it was Lord Baelish. As her eyes slowly came into focus she could discern the sharpish features of his face and the black hair streaked with grey at the temples, softly illuminated by the light from a flickering candle on her bedside table that he must have brought with him. How long had he been sitting there? She found this sudden forced intimacy very disconcerting and his behaviour completely uncharacteristic but her fear gradually dissolved; her rapid breathing slowed.

 

When he was sure that she was sufficiently calmed he dropped his hand from her mouth and leaned back, studying her reactions closely. His face wore, as always, a perfect mask of composure and control. She returned his gaze unsteadily, her eyes widened. A slight shiver shook her frame, whether from the chill in the room or from the hypnotic intensity of his grey-green eyes was not clear. Otherwise she remained completely still.

 

“I am sorry if I frightened you Lady Sansa and for the late hour of my visit. I am leaving the Vale for King’s Landing in the morning. It was to have been a few weeks hence but news has arrived that events have taken an unexpected turn and I am required earlier. I wished to ensure that you have everything you need in my absence. I will be leaving at dawn.”  
“How long will you be gone, Lord Baelish?”  
“Some weeks at this stage but I cannot be certain. There are matters of some….complication that may prove challenging.”  
He hesitated for an instant, carefully measuring his next words.  
“Why do you ask? Will you miss me when I am gone, my sweet?”  
She stiffened, feeling discomfited by his question, the slightly predatory tone in which he asked it and the closeness of him to her. 

 

During their many exchanges he often teased her and provoked her in a gently mocking way seemingly for his own amusement but this felt entirely different. She was young and in many ways naïve but Sansa was under no misapprehension about Baelish. This man, she knew, was a fiercely intelligent man and sometimes not an altogether good or kind man. He had always been solicitous to her, in large part, she suspected, because of her mother, but she could not attest to his treatment of those who crossed him. She had heard many rumours about Littlefinger and his machinations and intrigues while in court at Kings Landing. He was a dangerous, complicated, fascinating man with many secret motivations and urges roiling below the surface of a very calm, stilled lake. She could not shake the feeling that she was plummeting into a carefully constructed trap. 

 

She knew his question would require an answer. His eyes sparkled darkly and she noticed that he wore his characteristic sardonic smirk that quirked one corner of his mouth up dimpling his cheek as he waited patiently for her response. This, she found, was when he was at his most disconcerting: when his smile did not quite reach his eyes. She flushed, warring emotions flitting across her features. He had been good to her, protected her when all other hope seemed lost and she did not wish to jeopardise his attitude towards her. But with a sudden clarity that shocked her, she also realised that in fact, a part of her would miss him and she hoped his absence would not be overly prolonged. 

 

She could not understand what seemed to her to be a sudden shift in the way she thought of him. He was far from the tall, strong chivalric knight that she dreamed of in her youthful fantasies. He was much older than she, of slender build and smallish stature. In fact being quite tall herself she was slightly taller than he. But she could not deny his elegantly handsome features and he could be exceedingly charming. The trouble was that his charm seemed very much of the studied variety. When at one remove and she had the opportunity to regard his interactions with others, she felt that no gesture was spontaneous, no word spoken was unmeasured; he was so controlled, every move calculated for effect that she could never quite bring herself to entirely trust him. Consciously or otherwise she had until now kept herself at arm’s length emotionally as well as physically. However, she was acutely aware in that moment of how close together their bodies were. 

 

“I- I-” she flustered.  
She hated herself for how stupid and childish her small voice sounded to her own ears. She wanted so much to be stronger but her apprehension betrayed her. She could not hold his gaze any longer as she felt the colour creep slowly to her face. She shifted uncomfortably in the bed and grasped the bedclothes tighter around her as if they would offer her sanctuary. He chuckled gently, breathed a slight sigh and leaned his face closer to her, whispering.  
“You do not have to answer with words, Sansa. Your face and your body have betrayed you.”  
He had never addressed her by just her first name before and the over-familiarity jarred. Her breathing stopped as he inched closer to her ear, delicately twining a lock of her hair in his fingers, his warm breath caressing her earlobe and her throat as he murmured.  
“I know what I am to you but I am afraid that you do not know it yet.”  
He withdrew slightly and looked back into her eyes smugly. Her breathing had returned shallower, faster, and her face was flushed. A frisson of fear shot through her as she struggled to comprehend what was happening and her reactions to it.

 

“Lord Baelish, I don’t….”  
He interrupted her with a press of his right forefinger to her lips.  
“Call me Petyr.”  
He lightly trailed his finger over her lips and then leaned closer to brush his mouth ever so gently across hers in the merest wisp of a kiss, a suggestion of warmth and softness. An electrifying jolt coursed through her body. She felt a clenching in her belly, a wholly unfamiliar sweetness and a spreading warmth. At the shock of it she loosened her hold on the bedclothes and they fell from her sufficiently to reveal the semi-sheer nightgown she wore. She seemed completely oblivious to this exposure, so focussed was she on the novel sensations invading her body. But she could not bring herself to touch him or even to move, her fear and uncertainty paralysing her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has given this fic a go so far. I have another chapter prepared. Hope you enjoy :)

He had planned to go no further this night. He had wanted to merely plant a seed in her mind to make her think of him while he was gone. He needed her to be completely in his thrall and could not allow his progress with her to be diluted by this now unavoidable separation. But unaccountably, their brief contact and the strength of her reaction to him stirred something deep inside him, something he had believed was lost. Struck with a sudden impulse he gently pulled at the now exposed ties that held the front of her gown together, then grasped the gown at the shoulders and slid it down slowly, exposing her collarbones and upper chest. His long elegant fingers brushed down her throat and across the doe soft skin at her chest, eliciting a small shiver from her.

 

He took a moment to drink in Sansa’s beauty. With her perfect alabaster skin, her stillness made her look like a statue, a perfectly chiselled idol, smooth and unblemished. A pink blush tinted her high cheekbones and the skin of her chest. The halo of her long auburn hair shone and shimmered in the candlelight glow. The redness of her tresses against the white, white skin, the magnificent twin pools of her cerulean eyes, perfect arching brows, the long slender neck: she was art. His gaze shifted downwards where he was rewarded with a nebulous glimpse of the perfect rose tipped globes of her breasts barely visible through the mist of her nightgown.

 

He felt a delicious stirring in his groin, and it took all of his control not to bear down on her and take her there and then. He squashed the impulse. He reminded himself that she was not one of the women from his Kings Landing whorehouse. She was a young girl from a noble house unschooled in the acts between men and women and he would not force himself upon her or degrade her in any way. 

 

He needed to convince her that they both wanted the same thing. She was integral to his ambitions in the North. But while he needed her cooperation, he also realised he did not wish to hurt the girl. There was something about her that made her more to him than a mere pawn but what it was he could not say. He recognised that his solicitous regard for her welfare was a weakness in him but for now it was a weakness he was willing to allow himself. He reminded himself that his release, when it finally came, would be sweeter for the waiting and he had the experience that came with age to draw out this game for as long as it took. 

 

Her breathing came faster with his touch and the lust in his eyes. Lust and something else. What was it? It was gone in an instant as the shutters slammed down and his perfect inscrutability returned. But he had not been able to hide the slight hitch in his breathing when his lycanthropic eyes had devoured her and he had shifted his body slightly as though he was in discomfort. She realised she was having an effect on him and that inwardly pleased her very much. 

 

Without warning his hand snaked forward and behind her, grasping her head and crushing her lips hard against his. Again she felt a vibration through her body at this unexpected but not entirely unwelcome contact. His tongue then licked and his teeth nibbled at her bottom lip. A small whimper escaped her. Her lips parted slightly giving him the opportunity to invade her mouth with his tongue which quested for hers insistently. He pulled her closer feeling her warmth and the slight press of her breasts against his chest as she embraced him. Tentatively at first she reciprocated with her tongue, but soon the feeling of warmth pooling in her belly and a sweet keening feeling through her whole body urged her to return his kiss with growing enthusiasm. He imagined his mouth and probing tongue on another part of her body entirely and was rewarded again with his manhood straining insistently against the fabric of his breaches. 

 

She loved his taste, a mixture of spices, no doubt from the mulled wine he favoured in the evenings and that he offered her in his study but that she always politely declined. There was also a freshness like mint, an intoxicating heady combination. She wanted the kiss to go on and on but he broke free, both of them taking the opportunity to catch their breaths.  
“Gods you are beautiful, Sansa.”  
“Lord Baelish?” she panted.  
“Petyr,” he corrected.  
“Petyr?”  
That was the first time he had heard his first name from her lips. The melodic sound of it coming from her touched something inside him but he admonished himself and clamped down on the feeling immediately.   
“Yes my dear?”  
“I don’t know if we should - it does not seem - what will you do to me?”  
She hated how small and weak her voice sounded as she ended on little more than a trembling whisper. She was desperate to be strong but her resolve was crumbling in the face of his onslaught and the growing realisation of where all of this might take them.


	3. Chapter 3

This was a road she had never travelled and she did not know what to expect. As a young girl she had enjoyed reading poems and stories, listening to ballads, admiring the gallantry of knights and the blushing beauty of maids described therein. She knew well the storybook side to lovemaking and what little her mother had told her about what transpired in the marriage bed, but the physical mechanics of it, the raw reality of it - she may as well be a newborn babe. Although now seventeen years of age and too old for her storybooks, she was an innocent and ever she clung to her romanticized fantasies as a comfort and an armour.

 

Despite her inexperience she understood well what Petyr was. She could not regard him as a romantic character in the storybook of her life. She imagined that for a man who owned and operated a whorehouse, sex was considered merely a commodity to be traded, women were property, and the sexual act a business transaction, or at best a gratification of primal desires and raw physical need. With his ramrod straight bearing, his cold and calculating eyes that rarely smiled, she could not imagine grand romantic gestures and love would be his stocks in trade. And therein lay her apprehension. 

 

“It will happen as it is meant to Sansa. “But”, he added, “you must know above all else that I would never harm you.”   
He leaned closer to her. His hands slid down her arms, over her waist and hips to rest on her thighs, caressing them softly and moving ever upwards. Despite the pleasure she felt at his touch, a sudden panic swelled within her.   
“There are many ways to harm, Lord Baelish,” she spat.  
She surprised herself with the venom in her tone, a last bastion of defence against his encroaching advances that she now craved but at the same time, felt on some level, she must resist.

 

Her words and the hard edges to her tone surprised him and he did not know what to make of the sudden and total change in her demeanour. He had thought her tractable. Her shrewd, measured and quite deliberate return to using his honorific instead of his name had jarred with him and broke the spell that had begun to weave its glamour around them. He was taken aback and could not quite manage to master his reaction. She registered his shock but there was also an evident dismay, perhaps even hurt in his eyes. Again, it was fleeting, like the phantom of an emotion, insubstantial like smoke and dispersing too quickly to be sure that it had ever really existed. 

 

His expression hardened for an instant and then sighing, he relaxed his countenance into its normal slick mask of control. His hand reached out tentatively to stroke a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. His touch was warm and gentle. He stared into her eyes which looked back into his with a trembling defiance. She did not know how much longer she could maintain her composure and she now regretted what she had said and the harshness of it, fearing she had pushed things too far. 

 

Suddenly he grasped her bare shoulders and she cried out trying to pull away, uncertain of what he now intended. She whimpered involuntarily as she visualised him ripping the gown down over her breasts and taking her roughly like one of the fallen women in his whorehouse. He appeared displeased for a moment and then something more akin to resignation settled into his features. With a deep sigh he replaced the nightgown over her shoulders, quickly leaning in to plant a light kiss on her lips, light enough to be almost chaste but lingering just a little too long. She did not return the kiss as he had frightened her but she realised that a part of her very much wanted to. As his warmth left her lips and the cold of the room invaded her body she felt suddenly bereft and utterly alone. She almost reached for him in that moment but something held her back.

 

“I will impose upon you no longer my dear. You should rest. Sleep well and I will see you upon my return.”   
His clipped, brusque tone burned in her ears. He rose, straightened his tunic and shot her one last glance. The fear was gone; she no longer seemed defiant only child-like and lost. Her eyes glistened and he realised that tears were brimming in her eyes but that she would not allow them to fall.   
Brave beautiful girl.   
He stifled the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips, her slender throat. Instead he inclined his head in a slight bow.   
“My Lady.”  
He turned and strode from the room, candle in hand, closing the door quietly behind him.

 

She finally surrendered control of her composure as all of the emotional and physical tension that had built up inside her was finally unleashed in a paroxysm of sobs. Her chest heaved as she gave in to the perplexity of the confused feelings that she simply could not untangle. She felt her hot tears soaking into her pillow. Somewhere deep inside her she knew this assignation would have been wrong but she could not reconcile this with her new found desires and feelings for the man. He was old enough to be her father. Other than a few chaste kisses on her cheek or a hand on her elbow or shoulder that had never felt unseemly, his approach to her had always been fatherly and protective and she reciprocated as any grateful daughter would. Or had she been merely naïve?

 

With growing amazement and trepidation she realised for the first time that perhaps she had begun to love this impossibly dangerous, impenetrable man, and that shook her more than anything else in her life ever had. She certainly did not want to love him. He did not love her, although clearly, he wanted her. Their relationship was one of expedience. After all, her family was gone, dead or scattered throughout Westeros. She needed him and it was clear Baelish needed her for some larger purpose that was not yet clear to her. But the feelings could not be denied. They transcended the first stirrings of desire he had elicited in her this night. She now knew she had felt this way for some time but had not recognised the feelings for what they were. 

 

She watched the door for a long while hoping that it would open and he would return but at the same time, fervently praying that it would remain firmly shut. She closed her eyes, exhausted from the constant push and pull of her feelings.   
“Safe journey, Petyr.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa sat at her mirror brushing her hair in long, gentle strokes. She scrutinised her face in the mirror and sighed when she regarded the visage that stared back at her. She looked tired and wan, an effect heightened by the white silk gown she wore and the stark contrast of her skin with her auburn tresses.   
“It will not do Sansa. You must be strong,” she admonished herself out loud.   
She spied a sadness in her eyes that she must dispel. She would not allow him to see any weakness in her; in that she was determined. She sighed again deeply as she continued with her ministrations.

 

It had now been almost a month since Lord Baelish’s departure. She would not use his first name – there was too much power in it. It was a mystical talisman that enslaved her to him. She had missed him, as she knew she would, but their separation had given her time to reassess her feelings for him and the events of that night. With the benefit of hindsight she knew that her inexperience and innocence coupled with her newly blossoming physical desire had allowed him to entirely gain the upper hand. Part of her bristled at this and made her hate him for attempting to master her so until she remembered that, if she were being entirely truthful, she would give anything for the tables to be turned.

 

Something completely unexpected had happened that night. She had found a chink in his armour. She saw now with complete clarity that much as he might dress it up to be something other than what it was, he did have feelings for her and they were certainly not what could be described as paternal. Nor, she believed, were they mere base carnal desires. His face and body had in fact betrayed him. He had been angered and yes, hurt and disappointed by her rejection and fear. Fleeting and crushed by the power of his resolve, it had been banished in an instant, but it had been there nonetheless. 

 

Now more than ever she needed to be the intelligent, resilient, strong girl that he was always telling her she was but that she never quite believed she could be. She could not change the difference in their ages and the differences in experience that brought. But she knew with certainty that she had a power over him that he may not even be fully conscious of or would not admit to himself. She had to find a way to tap into it and chip away at the walls of his composure. She knew that if she could only keep her focus she could prevail but she feared that her determination would crumble with her first look into those smouldering eyes. 

 

Her mind had drifted away with her ruminations when she heard a soft rap on the door to her chamber.   
“Come In.”   
It was Irine, one of the servants, a short, plump, older woman who had been in Baelish’s retinue for many years.  
“Beg pardon my Lady. Lord Baelish wanted you to know he has returned and when it pleases your Ladyship if you would meet with him in his study?”  
Sansa struggled to show no reaction as her stomach plummeted to the ground. She berated herself. This show of discomfiture did not bode well for her plans to master Baelish. She felt the little frightened child of that fateful night bubbling back up to the surface to break her new-found strength, threatening to undo her entirely. She must remain steady. She needed time to shore up her resolve and settle her nerves before she confronted him. Making him wait for her until the morning would also serve, she hoped, to throw him off balance.

 

“Irine, could you please inform Lord Baelish that I am feeling indisposed tonight and if he would excuse me. I will be taking to my bed shortly. I will see him in the morning, if that will suit.”  
“Are you alright my Lady? You do look a little peaked, if you don’t mind me saying. Can I get you anything?”  
“Thank you Irine. I do not require anything. I will be fine. I just need some rest. Please convey my apologies to Lord Baelish.”  
“Yes, My Lady.”  
Irine made her way to Lord Baelish’s chamber and knocked softly.   
“Yes. Enter.”  
Baelish had been seated at his desk but stood and turned as the woman entered. He appeared somewhat displeased but only momentarily as his expression quickly shifted.   
“Oh, it is you Irine. What can I do for you?”   
“I’m sorry my Lord. Lady Sansa sends her apologies but she is poorly and would meet with you in the morn, if it suits your Lordship.”

 

A look of concern closely pursued by scepticism traversed his face.   
“What is the matter? It is nothing serious I trust?”   
She thought his eyes would sear straight through her as he waited for her reply, his head tilted slightly to the side like a raptor sizing up its prey.  
“I am not sure what is amiss but she says that it is nothing that rest will not cure my Lordship.”   
“Very well, Irine. That will be all. Oh Irine, on second thoughts, please fetch me some wine.”  
“Yes my Lord.”

 

Once Irine had delivered his favourite mulled wine that he suddenly craved, Petyr sloshed a large measure into a pewter goblet from the serving tray and took a healthy swig. A drop escaped the side of his mouth; he swiped at it impatiently with the embroidered sleeve of his black velvet doublet.   
What in the Seven Hells is she playing at?  
He was not in the slightest convinced of her illness. Was this some sort of game, or was she in fact afraid of him? This last possibility unsettled him.

 

He knew she had an intelligent, sharp mind. Perhaps her last encounter with him had brought it to the fore. If it was a game on her part, then he could deal with that. He played the game better than anyone in Westeros and a mere slip of a girl would not best him. It would be an amusing distraction for her to try but ultimately he would prevail. If on the other hand she was frightened of him, now that was an entirely different matter. That would be much more difficult to manage. He pushed away another thought that came unbidden to him – a sudden feeling of dismay that he may have affected her in that way and that he had destroyed any chance……He did not let himself finish the anomalous thought and banished it quickly from his mind.

 

Instead he chose to stoke a slow burning resentment that she was merely being manipulative and wilful. He had been away for what felt like an eternity. He had been nothing but solicitous towards her and all he wanted…. In truth he no longer knew what he wanted with regard to her but in any case, his pride would not allow it to pass. He stewed and fumed for some time, renewing the wine often until the decanter was finally empty. He eyed it with annoyance as though it had emptied itself of its own volition out of pure spite. The drink had loosened him but had done nothing to quell his growing frustration. With a resounding thump of pewter on wood, and before he even knew what he was doing, he stormed from his chambers and propelled himself towards Sansa’s rooms. He did not know what he would do when he got there, his judgement was muddled by his high emotions and a fog from the wine.

 

Reaching the door he did not knock but slammed both hands against it with the full momentum of his body and hurtled into her rooms without warning. He heard her sharp gasp before he saw her but then detected a swift movement in the corner of the room as she whirled from the small chair in front of her dresser mirror to face him, shock etched into her face. Their eyes locked, the colour slowly draining from her face. She wore a sheer ivory nightgown that sculpted her blossoming curves to perfection. Her crimson hair, newly brushed, was lustrous, cascading over her shoulders and shielding her breasts from his view. This did not stop her from flinging her arms reflexively across her chest as her instinctive sense of modesty and of self-preservation took over. Her eyes darted back and forth from him to the now closed door in panic.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hello Sansa,” he sneered, leering at her.  
“Irine tells me you are not feeling well. I must say that you look exceedingly beautiful tonight. For someone who feels poorly. A little pale perhaps. Can I do anything for you, anything…..you have but to name it.”  
He had called her out on her lie – she had not expected that. His words were phrased in a tone so laden with menacing undercurrents that she felt her legs weaken and tremble beneath her. Be strong, be strong, she willed herself, taking a deep breath. 

 

“As I advised Irine, I will be fine, Lord Baelish. Rest is all that is required. Welcome back. I trust your business was concluded to your satisfaction and that your trip was successful.”  
Her voice was a lot steadier than her legs felt, for which she was exceedingly grateful. He glared at her, his eyes darkening, the threat in his gaze unmistakable.  
He chuckled darkly and stepped closer to her; she stiffened and swallowed hard. His smile did not reach his eyes.

 

“So very formal, Sansa. Would you not greet me as a daughter would her father? It has been a month. Did you not miss your father at all?”  
His eyes glittered as he waited for her response.  
“It is…..good to have you back ….Father.”  
She willed her quaking legs to carry her closer to him. She could smell the wine on his breath; the unmistakable smell of the spices brought back some of the sensual feelings of that night a month ago as though it had been only hours since. This sudden recollection served only to make her legs feel even weaker as those sensual memories entwined with her growing apprehension. She leaned in as if to kiss his cheek but steeled herself to let her lips linger right at the corner of his mouth, longer than was strictly necessary.  
“Did you miss your daughter, my Lord?”  
She moved from him slowly as she risked a quick glance at him.  
“Clever, clever girl.”

 

What she saw in his eyes then truly frightened her. A look of naked lust, animalistic and raw, mixed with anger and with a tenuous restraint that was most assuredly unravelling. She had gone too far with him. She could not fight this; she had no weapons in her limited arsenal. This was not the Baelish she was accustomed to or even a version of him that she had expected could ever exist.  
“I will show you just you how much I missed you, Daughter,” he hissed.

 

His hand snaked out and grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, his long elegant fingers entangling in her tresses. He yanked her head back; Sansa yelped in surprise and pain. Her slender throat was exposed. He stared at it hungrily and planted a painful bruising kiss full of teeth and malice on the delicate skin there. Another cry escaped her lips. Backing her up against a wall, and savagely kissing at her neck, his other hand grabbed at one breast, massaging it roughly through the thin fabric of her nightgown as he pressed his growing erection against her thigh.  
“Please my Lord,” she whimpered as she struggled against him.  
“Please, what? What do you really want, Daughter? What are you begging me to do?”  
“Please… Petyr. Please stop”, she sobbed. “You said you would never harm me.”  
He froze. She had not used his name since their last encounter and to hear it uttered with such abject pleading and distress wounded him to the core, sobering him immediately.  
What in the Seven Hells am I doing to this girl? She does not want this.

 

His hand disentangled from her hair. He dropped his other hand from her breast as he stepped away, regret and shame flooding him. Gone was the manipulative woman he had constructed in his mind. In her place was a terror-stricken child. She hugged her arms across her chest as a persistent rain of tears burned trails down her cheeks. He raised his hand towards her face; she flinched thinking he may strike her but his rage had completely dissolved. His fingers gently wiped at the tears on her face.  
“Hush now, please do not cry. I am sorry I hurt and frightened you. Come to me. Come here.”  
He carefully wrapped his arms around her and held her close, her wet face cradled against his chest. She could feel the strong beat of his heart and the warmth that emanated from him as their bodies melded together. Her sobs gradually quietened as her body relaxed into him. He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. His impulse was to kiss her trembling mouth but he stopped as his gaze lowered to the angry accusatory bruise now forming on her throat. Disconnecting from the embrace, he planted a quick kiss on her forehead and stepped away.

 

Without another word, he spun from her and strode from the room, closing the door behind him. Sansa gingerly touched the bruise on her throat and then brushed over her aching breast, a final tear trickling down her face. She stood staring at the door for a moment, snuffed her candle, and slowly made her way to her bed. Staring listlessly into the dark for some time, she eventually closed her eyes and drifted into a troubled sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Petyr had left the Eyrie for Gulltown the very next morning on the pretence of business but after a few days of reflection and self-recrimination, had returned. Despite the relief and perspective afforded by time and distance he still felt immensely ashamed of his actions and his entirely uncharacteristic loss of control. He could not impeach the wine. He was not accustomed to regretting his actions, regardless of how questionable they often were. In his world the end justified the means, always. Success depended upon never allowing yourself to fall prey to sentimentality, never second guessing yourself, never allowing anybody to challenge your self-belief. Success also depended on self-control and in this respect he had utterly failed.

 

He had hoped that the time away would clarify but he was surprised to realise that he was no closer to an answer on how to proceed with Sansa. Somehow he had allowed himself to be disarmed by this intelligent, exquisite girl. That was never part of the plan; he constantly struggled against the current of his own feelings. Settling down at his desk with the intention of resuming his work he found himself drumming his fingers on the tabletop, staring absently into space, his thoughts a confusing whirl of options, dead ends and teasingly elusive potentialities.

 

Suddenly a sharp rapping at the door pulled him from his trance.   
“Yes, Enter.”  
It was Irine.   
“Pardon My Lord. Thank the Heavens you are back. It is Lady Sansa. She is not well. We have had the village physician, Luwin attend. He believes it is a high fever that some of the babes and old folk of the village have come down with. My Lord…… some have passed,” she finished on a terrified whisper, her eyes wide and unblinking.   
Any suspicion that this was a repetition of Sansa’s previous ruse was immediately dispelled by the fear vibrating in the voice and eyes of the woman in front of him. Petyr’s heart pounded in his throat. 

 

“Irine thank you for informing me. I will attend her chambers shortly. Please try to calm yourself. She is a strong, healthy girl. I am sure she will soon recover,” he re-assured, not at all convinced by his own words.  
“As it pleases my Lord, only for some reason she has seemed so out of sorts lately and took little food or sleep in the days before the fever took her,” she blurted.   
She started at Baelish’s stricken look, fearing she had spoken out of turn.   
“But”, she stammered, “I am sure what you say is true; with the right care she will rally.”  
Irine turned and scuttled away as fast as her short legs would carry her.

 

With growing trepidation Petyr approached Sansa’s door and pushed it open dreading what he might find. A diffused light filtered through the translucent curtains of her windows, sparkling dust motes floating and swirling through the air. He could detect the thick cloying smell of sickness, partly cloaked but not dispelled by exotic incense burning on a table in the corner of her chamber. One of her handmaidens was sitting by the side of the bed, gently pressing a dampened flannel to Sansa’s fevered brow and chest. He had entered unnoticed but the woman eventually detected his presence and turned to meet his gaze.  
“How is she?” he asked quietly  
“She is very weak, your Lordship,” the woman replied, shaking her head in dismay.  
“Would you please leave us?”  
“Forgive me your Lordship but the physician says only myself and the other handmaidens may attend. It is a very dangerous and catching fever.”  
“I will deal with the physician’s wrath later,” he replied firmly.  
The woman hesitated briefly, then nodding her head in deference, quickly exited the chamber.

 

As he neared the bed and assessed the full state of Sansa’s condition his breathing hitched. She looked so diminished, so pale and so incredibly frail. She had always been a slender girl but she appeared to have lost weight in the few short days that he had been absent. Her hair was plastered to her face which was slicked with perspiration. The delicate skin around her now closed eyes, was darkened, her beautiful lips chapped and dry. The front of her nightgown was soaked and he noticed a reddened patch of skin across her chest – a fever rash angry and raw. With self-reproach he noticed that her throat still wore the ghost of the bruise he had left there. 

 

“Sansa”, he murmured, as he gently lifted her small hand to his lips and held it there feeling the intensity of the heat emanating from her skin.   
“Sansa, it is me, Petyr.”  
Her eyelids flickered open as she stirred at his voice. The pain in her eyes and the small smile she managed in greeting were like a dagger to his chest.  
“Petyr?”   
Her voice was barely a whisper in return.   
“I am sorry. I had no idea. Why were you not eating? Did I….did I do this?”

 

He looked completely mortified. The uncharacteristic nakedness of his emotions moved her to take her hand from his and stroke the side of his face for some moments before the effort overcame her and her hand dropped listlessly to the bed.  
“Petyr, do not concern yourself or blame yourself. I will be fine. You are here now.” With this, she closed her eyes once again, her chest moving up and down slowly as she began to slip into a deep sleep. Just before she surrendered to her exhaustion she thought she heard a hushed and desperate, “please come back to me, my love,” but she was not sure whether she had imagined it as her fever-befuddled mind drifted slowly into oblivion.


	7. Chapter 7

By the following night the fever had broken and Sansa was able to sit upright in the bed and take light nourishment. Her constitution was weakened but her flushed face and the angry rash on her chest had paled. Over the next couple of weeks her condition gradually improved until the physician declared her recovered. As predicted, Luwin had taken Petyr to task in no uncertain terms for entering Sansa’s chambers and staying by her side that first night and strictly forbade any further contact until the risk of contagion had completely passed. Petyr begrudgingly deferred to the older man’s instructions despite his pride bristling at the manner in which he was being spoken to. 

 

Luwin was however a respected man in the village, recognised for his highly efficacious healing skills and Petyr would be forever grateful that he had managed to bring Sansa back from the brink. It had been a close thing – she had literally teetered on the edge of death and Luwin had declared her return to health as somewhat of a miracle. But, he cautioned, she is weak and must take care not to over-exert herself. The physician looked pointedly at Petyr.   
“Treat her gently, my Lord.”  
Petyr glared at the man wondering at his presumption but decided he was reading too much into it and assured him he could be relied upon to see to her needs, as he always did. 

 

Petyr sat at his desk concentrating on the hefty ledger in front of him, his quill moving swiftly as he scribed his entries. It was dark in the room save for the soft light emanating from a large candle that dripped its wax slowly onto the base of the heavy brass holder in which it was housed. There was a light tapping at the door. He lifted his head from his work but remained seated, twisting his body to face the door.  
“Enter.” 

 

Her tall slender form silhouetted in the doorway, materialising like a vision. As Sansa moved further into the room he drank in the glow of her pale face, the magnificent flood of her shining red tresses. She wore an exquisite emerald and gold embroidered gown that hugged her figure and highlighted the milky and now unblemished whiteness of her long slender throat, the gentle curve of her collarbones, her breasts, her hips. The skin of her face looked dewy, her lips soft and rosy pink were ever so slightly parted, her eyes limpid and strikingly azure as they caught the flickering candlelight. Petyr did not think he had ever seen anything more beautiful in his life. He could feel his heart thumping forcefully in his chest. 

 

He fought a strong urge to seize her in his arms in a crushing embrace and kiss every inch of her. Instead, he took control of himself and rose steadily, pulling and straightening his black and gold embroidered doublet as he stood. He wore his trademark smirk, his eyes glittering with their usual intensity.  
“It is good to see you on your feet again and looking so beautiful my Lady.” 

 

He took hold of her hand and pressed it to his lips; his face inscrutable. She savoured the feel of his soft warm lips and the brief tickle of his moustache on her fingers but the kiss did not linger and he soon released her hand. He smiled at her but to her dismay the smile did not reach his eyes. Her stomach lurched, her utter confusion evident as she stood before him, now fidgeting, completely unsure of what to do next. It was as though nothing at all had transpired between them. They were father and daughter, even less, all civility and formality and politeness. 

 

The colour drained from her face and her gaze dropped to the floor but after a moment she lifted her chin and regarded him with what she hoped was an unreadable expression, praying her disappointment at his apparent rejection did not show.   
“Thank you for attending me during my illness. I cannot recall much of anything but Irine and Luwin tell me that you had risked your own health to do so. You should not have done that. Luwin was very angry with you. I am angry with you.” 

 

The considered aloofness of her tone was not lost on him. He stifled a laugh.   
“You are angry with me, my dear. I can see that.”   
He narrowed his eyes; they glinted with mischief.   
“But I must wonder, are you angry with me over my blatant disregard for my own health as you see it, or are you angry with me for something else entirely?”   
A furious blush assaulted Sansa’s cheeks as her gaze again shifted to her feet.  
She looked so flushed and distressed at that moment that remembering what the physician had told him, he relented, gently taking hold of her elbow.   
“Come here Sansa. Sit with me on the divan. I have something for you.”

 

This piqued her curiosity and somewhat assuaged her disquiet.  
He sat her down and reached across to an adjacent cabinet withdrawing a small wooden box, handing it to her. The lid was inlaid with milky ivory. The intricate design was of a rose, the edges of which she traced delicately with her forefinger, exploring its cold smoothness. She looked at him enquiringly, a small smile blossoming.  
“What is this, Lord -”  
“Gods Sansa, will you call me Petyr” he cried exasperatedly. More gently, “Open the box.”

 

She slowly pulled back the hinged lid to reveal a silver necklace. She gasped in delight as she spied the gloriously detailed pendant that swung from the chain – a sweet mockingbird perched on the branch of a tree, his personal sigil. A large onyx eye scintillated as she held it to the light.   
“Oh Petyr. It is beautiful. Thank you.”   
The way his name sounded from her lips and her radiant smile at this unexpected gift warmed him. 

 

He took the chain from her fingers.   
“Here, allow me.”  
She turned her back to him while he gathered the length of her hair gently in his hand and placed it over one shoulder, baring the nape of her neck. He moved closer to affix the clasp, their bodies almost touching. The mockingbird sat metal cool and weighty against the skin of her chest. She ran her fingers lingeringly over its surface. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. As he released the chain, his long elegant fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her neck below her ear. The suddenness of the contact and the unexpected arousal it stirred in the pit of her belly caused her to tense with an audible intake of breath. She could sense Petyr’s body stiffen similarly as he moved away from her, maintaining a deliberate distance between them.

 

She turned to face him.  
“It looks beautiful on you. This Mockingbird pendant symbolises what we are to each other,” he explained softly.   
“Wherever you may find yourself in the world, whatever your fate, you have but to touch this and know that I will always watch over you and keep you from harm.”  
“It is so much more to me than that,” she replied.   
He stared at her perplexed.  
“Petyr, I love it; I love you,” she breathed.


	8. Chapter 8

Petyr could not believe his ears. Surely he had misheard. She had demonstrated previously that she did not want him, that she was frightened of him. She was now confused or perhaps just grateful for his recent consideration of her and for the gift, the intention of which she had clearly misconstrued.   
“Sansa, you do not have to say that to me. I do not want you to say it. You cannot, you do not love me. I think you may be confusing gratitude for something else.”   
He paused before pressing on.   
“You no longer have anything to fear from me. There will be no repeat of that….. unpleasantness of the other night. I should never have touched you like that because is not what you want or need; that is abundantly clear to me. Things will go on as they were before and I will continue to protect your interests as I always have. As your guardian, you have my word.” 

 

She turned to face him and firmly grasped both of his slender hands in hers. He tried to pull back but she held tight. She had always loved his hands, elegant like those of a woman but strong with a thick callous on the middle finger of his right hand from long hours of writing in his ledgers. She lightly rubbed at the rough spot with her thumb, wondering what it would feel like to have those hands on her, warm and strong, caressing every inch of her skin.

 

His body felt as though it was coiled, ready to spring from the divan at any moment. His eyes bore into her. She continued in as gentle a tone as she could muster. “Petyr. Do you remember once you told me that I did not know what you meant to me?”  
He nodded hesitantly.   
“That was true, at the time. But it is no longer true. Now it is you who do not know what you mean to me.”   
She released his hands and moved hers up to cradle the sides of his face.  
“Let me show you.” 

 

Slowly she brought his face close to hers and firmly but gently pressed her warm soft lips to his in a kiss sweet and tender. A low moan escaped his throat. He moved one hand to the back of her head, gently stroking his fingers through her flowing locks. His other arm encircled her, his hand resting on the small of her back as he pulled her close, her breasts pressed against his chest. Her fingers raked through the greying hair at his temples, her fingernails gently scraping against the skin of his scalp as the kiss became deeper and more urgent. She parted her lips and his tongue quickly invaded her mouth. She followed suit, her tongue questing for his relentlessly, exploring his whole mouth. She loved his taste and could not get enough of him. He broke the kiss to run his lips along her jawline, licking and kissing down the side of her throat until he reached her collarbone. Her breathing quickened and she flushed with the pleasure she felt clenching in the pit of her belly, a delightful tingling between her legs. She could feel a moisture gathering in her smallclothes.

 

Petyr paused to look at her.  
“Please tell me if you want me to stop. We do not have to do this.”  
“It is what I want.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“I am sure.”   
He gently lifted her to her feet and began to work expertly at the buttons, clasps and ties of her gown. She wondered briefly how many women he had undressed before her as he was very dexterous, but quickly squashed the thought. Her gown slipped from her body to pool at the floor eliciting an audible gasp from Petyr as he stepped back to regard her. 

 

Her semi sheer undergarment left little to the imagination, revealing the curves of her shoulders and hips, her long slender thighs and arms, her beautiful rounded breasts. He could make out the ghost of her rosy pink nipples which the shift did little to conceal. He moved towards her cautiously as though he believed she was some mythical, rarely spied creature that might at any time take flight. But she stood her ground, her breasts moving in time with her now rapid panting, her lips slightly parted.


	9. Chapter 9

Leaning forward, he kissed her shoulder along the edge of one shoulder strap of her shift and then hooked a finger underneath to slip it from her shoulder, revealing her right breast. He stroked the soft milky flesh and brushed his fingers across the bud of her nipple. Her breath hitched in her throat, her head falling back, a low moan escaping from her. He slipped the remaining strap from her other shoulder and using his thumb, rubbed across the nipple of her left breast, then pinched and ground it gently between thumb and forefinger until he felt it harden. He leant his head to her other breast and planted the lightest of butterfly kisses on the nipple there. Taking it tenderly into his mouth he sucked and gently grazed it with his teeth. 

 

She felt a bolt of pure pleasure tear through her body and moaned. As her thighs clenched instinctively, intensifying the sensations growing between her legs, Petyr continued to nip and tease at her, his hands pulling her undergarment down over her hips to join company with the discarded gown at her feet. He sucked more forcefully and took more of her breast into his mouth, massaging mercilessly over her nipple and the trapped flesh with his tongue. Feathering one hand softly down her hip and around to the top of her thigh he moved his hand across and brushed over her smallclothes at her sex lightly with his fingers. At this she cried out his name, this time not in pain or fear, but in ecstasy. She leant on him as she started to tremble, her legs weakening beneath her. Hearing his name from her in her passion and feeling how wet she had become for him, he could control himself no longer. He scooped her into his arms, carrying her into the bedchamber, her head against his chest, his heart drumming in her ear.

 

Once beside the feather bed, he set her down and gently peeled off the only remaining concealment down her long legs to the floor. She stepped free. His eyes travelled down her form to rest at the small patch of red hair between her legs.   
“You are perfect.”   
He pulled her close until her whole body melded to his, his hands travelling to the soft round globes of her bottom, drawing her into a deep kiss and pressing his manhood firmly against her. He moaned at the delightful pressure of his member against her, the soft yielding flesh in his hands, her trembling body, and thanked the Gods that he had remained clothed. He was no callow youth but he doubted his restraint could have survived this long had it not been for his clothing still separating them. 

 

He took her hand and led her to sit on the end of the bed. Kneeling down in front of her, he gently separated her legs and pushed back on her shoulders to lay her back on the bed. Her hair spread around her like blood. She looked anxiously and uncertainly at him, her body tensed, and he remembered her inexperience and that she would have no notion of what was coming next. He stroked the side of her face with his fingers.  
“Don’t worry. What I will do now will not hurt you. It will only bring you pleasure. You have my word.”

 

She nodded slowly and gave him a small smile. What was he going to do? He was still clothed so he was not going to take her. Not yet. From what little she knew, she understood there would be pain, but not yet. She willed her body to relax, a cue for Petyr to start kissing up the inside of one leg until he reached the crease of skin where inner thigh met her thatch of hair. He leaned in and kissed her ever so gently on the folds of her sex. She squirmed and moaned as she felt his soft lips, the hairs of his moustache and beard, and a wisp of his breath there. She was so wet. 

 

He grabbed both legs and placed them over his shoulders, completely opening her sex to him. She gasped. She had never felt so vulnerable and exposed. He kissed along the length of her folds and then ever so gently with the tip of his tongue he licked her swollen and silky soft lips, savouring the musky sweet smell and the taste of her juices. He gradually began to lick and lap at her more greedily and to suck at her sex as she clenched the bedclothes tightly in her hands. Her head moved from side to side; her breaths came fast and shallow as small mewling notes escaped from her. 

 

She felt his thumbs separate her to allow his tongue access, his hot breath scorching her. His tongue slicked her inner folds flickering, massaging and then thrusting into her. She felt the throbs and pulsations deep inside her building and building. She did not know how much more she could take.   
“Petyr please …. Please,” she whimpered.   
He placed one finger inside her and gradually moved it in sliding along her walls. She gasped in shock and winced at the tightness and the unfamiliarity of the sensation but the pleasure soon overcame any discomfort as she moved ever closer to her release. He then slipped a second finger in, pausing in his motions to allow her to adjust to this new invasion. He felt her tense.   
“Breathe dear, breathe for me.”

 

As she steadied, he resumed his actions, then hooking his fingers and judging her reactions he found a sensitive spot and rubbed and massaged until she panted and whimpered in the agony of her pleasure. She arched her back pressing his fingers into her further. She began to move herself against his hand in increasing desperation. She was close, so close to reaching something but what it was she could not fathom. He removed his fingers. She whined in protest. He reached with one hand and lifted her bottom forcing her sex more firmly to his mouth. He licked and sucked along and amongst her folds until he reached her nub. He gently slipped his fingers back inside her while his tongue slicked the raw bundle of nerves in small circular motions lightly at first but gradually increasing his pressure as she heaved and bucked against him. Finally he nibbled her gently between his teeth. She could take no more. She crashed around him, submitting herself to the intensity of the waves of sensation assailing her, crying out his name.

 

He continued to move his fingers inside her as her sex clenched and fluttered around them in rhythmic pulses, a flood of her juices coating his hand and his mouth which had remained to suck gently at her as she rode the last waves of her pleasure. Gradually her breathing stilled and her body slumped as the exhaustion of her release hit her. He gently lowered her legs and kissed her softly at the entrance to her wet and swollen sex.   
“Good girl.”

 

He licked his hand and his lips, savouring the drops of her that remained there. A light perspiration dusted her brow as a smile of utter contentment formed on her face and tears brimmed in her eyes. He reached over to leave a soft kiss on her lips, the smell and the taste of her own sex lingering there.   
“How do you feel?”  
“Wonderful,” she sighed.  
“You are so beautiful.”  
She reached up her hands to cradle his face and bring him close for another kiss.   
“So are you.”


	10. Chapter 10

He sat himself on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, then stood to peel off his coat, looking at her all the while. She had moved herself up the bed and reclined while closely regarding him. He grinned at the look of intense concentration on her face and her naked curiosity, as he reminded himself that she had never seen a man disrobe before. However he saw something else in her that gave him pause. She looked completely exhausted and ghostly pale. As pressing as his own needs had become, he reluctantly dropped his hands from the buttons of his doublet and sighed. 

 

“Sansa, dear. You look done in. Perhaps we should go no further tonight. I fear that Luwin shall return in the full fury of his wrath and skin me alive. He practically threatened to do so if I as much as touched a hair on your head and I have done considerably more than that tonight,” he smirked.  
“Petyr, I am very much surprised that you did not flay Luwin alive on the spot for speaking to you in such an impudent manner. He is a very brave man.”  
“Not so brave, dear. He knows that I owe him a very large debt.”   
“I did not know that you had business dealings with Luwin?”  
He laughed heartily at her misinterpretation.  
“Why are you laughing at me Petyr”? She looked irritated now.  
“I am sorry Sansa”, he grinned. “You are correct in a sense - I do not have dealings with that man. The debt I owe him is you. He brought you back to me. There is not payment enough in the world for that.”  
“Oh.”

 

His words stirred something deep inside her. She needed to be closer to him, her current state of health be damned.   
“Petyr I am fine, really.”  
“What comes next….there will be pain. It is unavoidable. You are so frail still. I worry for you.”  
“I need to see you. I need to touch you. I want you to feel good too. I know it will be painful but it will pass. I want you, all of you. Please?”

 

He looked into her eyes that pleaded to join her in the bed and he could resist no longer.  
“Alright but we will go slowly and I will do my best to make it easy for you. If at any stage you -”  
“Petyr. Stop talking,” she interrupted sounding exasperated.   
He started at that and looked at her in shock. Passion had clearly emboldened her – she had never spoken to him like that before. He liked it. Shaking his head in amusement and chuckling he bent at the waist in a mock bow.   
“As your Ladyship commands.”   
She giggled.

 

His fingers returned to unbutton his jacket, revealing the oily slick of the loose black silk shirt he wore underneath. He dropped the doublet where he stood, walked over to the bed and sat on the edge facing towards her.   
“Oh I see how this works. Another gift for me to unwrap.”  
“You learn quickly, my Lady.”  
“It speaks to the quality of the teacher.”

 

Rolling on to her side Sansa reached for him sliding her fingers across the soft smooth blackness of the shirt, savouring the tautness of his chest and the warmth of his skin through it. She sat up and gripped the bottom of the shirt and hauled it up over his head and threw it to land on top of the discarded doublet. Facing him, she noticed that his body was tensed and he had a strange look in his eyes. Her gaze wandered down to his chest, her eyes widening as they came to rest on the deep pink scar that tracked his body from the base of his throat all the way down his torso to disappear beneath the top of his breaches.

 

He studied her reaction closely. He had unclothed himself in front of many women and revealing the scar had never really caused him any undue embarrassment or discomfort. He had noticed that most of the women he bedded studiously avoided looking at it, however, and certainly eschewed touching it if they possibly could. It had never concerned him as their opinion of him scarcely mattered. But he found that Sansa’s opinion of him mattered very much indeed. He held his breath in anticipation of what she would say or do next.

She stared intently at the scar, wondering how on earth a man like Petyr would even acquire an injury like that. He was not a fighting man. He had neither the strength and physique nor the lust for blood that were required of a true swordsman. His talent lay in his cunning, his artful manipulations, the thrust and parry of his intrigues. She wanted so much to ask him about it but it was not the time and she felt he would tell her when he was ready. She lifted her eyes to his as though seeking permission, then reached tentatively with the tips of her fingers to touch the scar where it began. A low moan erupted from Petyr as he tensed, closed his eyes and grabbed at her hand. 

 

“Oh Petyr. I am sorry. Did I hurt you?”  
He breathed deeply and released her hand, his eyes more intense than she could ever remember.   
“You did not hurt me. It is an old wound.”  
She pushed gently at his shoulders to lower him onto his back.  
“I love your body,” she breathed as she surveyed his taut, lightly muscled form.  
Her hand returned to the scar tracing its full length down to his belt. His breathing hitched at the nearness of her hand to the ever hardening bulge in his breaches. She leaned her face down, strands of her long hair tickling his chest, and followed the trail down his body again, this time with her lips and tongue, alternating soft kisses with licks as she went. One of Petyr’s hands lay on the back of her head holding her against him as she moved ever downwards. When she finally reached his breaches she tentatively stretched out her hand and squeezed the mound in his pants.   
“Oh Gods!” he moaned loudly. 

 

Encouraged and emboldened by his reaction, she worked at the laces of his trousers, sliding them down his legs and dropping them with the rest of his clothing leaving him with only his undergarments. She took a deep breath and slid her fingers under the edges of the thin tented fabric, pushing it down his legs and over his feet. His member, now fully erect, sprang up as it was released from its confinement.

 

She stared at it in wonder and curiosity. She had never seen a man’s unclothed organ up close before and she found it utterly compelling. She had nothing to compare it to but it looked large to her – fear stabbed at her as she wondered how it would fit down there. She reached for it hesitantly, stroking the side of it gently with the tip of her forefinger. Petyr moaned his pleasure. She smiled as she felt how hard it was and yet the skin so velvety soft. She had no idea how to proceed, what women did to their men down there, but she took her cue from the way he had pleasured her earlier. Starting at the base she traced feather light kisses and licks travelling slowly up to the head. Once there she gripped the base with her small hand and squeezed gently, kissing then licking and sucking at the tip as she did. Her lips and tongue slicked over it while her hand rhythmically squeezed and tugged at his shaft. 

 

Suddenly there was a sharp intake of breath and a groan from Petyr as he abruptly took hold of her face in his hands and drew her away from him. She gasped, scared that she had done something wrong or caused him pain. He was breathing heavily, his desire-filled eyes boring into her. He flipped her on to her back and lay on top of her, his member squeezing hard against her. She could feel it thrumming and hot as she revelled in the full body contact with him she had been craving. He moved in to crush her lips to his, and finding them eagerly parted, his tongue probed and thrusted, wrestling with hers. One hand snaked down to twist and pinch at her right nipple, making her yelp with the pulse of pleasure it sent down to her core. He kept up the relentless assault on her mouth while he moved his body, rubbing against the wetness at the apex of her thighs.

 

He broke from the kiss, sweeping his lips and tongue over her chin and down her throat and chest until he reached her left breast where he sucked and nibbled and licked at her. His free hand slid down and over her belly and thatch of hair to then sweep along and inside her folds. Feeling how wet she had become, he carefully inserted two fingers inside her and began to gently stroke her inside as he had done earlier, his thumb caressing her nub. Sansa was mewling now, her nails digging into Petyr’s back.   
“Petyr. I need more. Please…”  
Removing his fingers and propping himself up he grasped his member, positioning the tip right at the entrance to her sex. She gasped as she felt the hot bluntness of his touch and stiffened in anticipation of what was to come next. He pushed slightly between her folds but stopped to allow her time to adjust to the feeling, moving in a little further, a little further. With one quick motion he pressed into her. Sansa cried out at the red hot pain that stabbed through her body and she froze underneath him in shock.  
“Shhh. Sansa. Breathe. The worst is over. It will get better from here.”

 

He waited for her to calm, withdrew slowly then pushed in again, a little more each time until he was entirely seated inside her. The intense pain Sansa had initially felt had gone as quickly as it had arrived. She could not say she was entirely comfortable as there was a persistent aching there but once she took in the sensation of his hardness inside her, hot and pulsating, pleasure slowly but gradually gained the upper hand. The tightness, wetness and heat of her was almost too much for Petyr. Summoning the last of his self-control he rocked his hips forward and back plunging rhythmically into her. He could tell she was close, so close. As he repositioned himself to change the angle of his thrusts, she cried out and scraped her nails across his back. He took his forefinger and while continuing his motion, firmly massaged her clit.

 

“Let go for me Sansa. Let yourself go.”  
“Petyr!” she screamed as rolling waves of cramping sweet pleasure started at the pit of her sex and coursed up through her entire body. Continuing to thrust and massage her nub to prolong her pleasure as long as possible, he felt the walls of her sex clamping around his engorged member and could hold on no longer. With a long low moan and a trembling arch of his back as he thrust deeply one more time, he finally found his release, his warm seed spilling inside her. He collapsed hugging her to him fiercely, panting and sweating, staying inside her, rocking gently against her, relishing the last echoes of their mutual pleasure, softly whispering her name in her ear. 

 

She wished it would never end. She felt so intimately connected to him in that moment that she wanted him to stay inside her and be a part of her forever. When he withdrew from her rolling to the side with a deep sigh, she was overcome by a sense of such profound loss that she began to cry. His brow furrowed in concern as he pulled her closer soothing her with gentle kisses to her cheeks and stroking her long hair.   
“Sansa. Do not cry dear. Did it hurt that much? I am so sorry my darling.”   
She heaved and sobbed but gradually quietened enough to respond.   
“It did not hurt so much. I was crying because…. because I did not want you to leave me. Please don’t ever leave me.”   
This started her tears all over again.   
“Oh dear, dear girl”.   
He was overcome and could think of nothing more to say, as he realised the depth of her feelings for him. It troubled him, it unsettled him but it also felt like the best thing in the world. He held her close until her tears stopped and she fell into an exhausted sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Petyr woke to a golden dawn, the soft light filtering in through the window and birdsong trilling from a large oak tree nearby. Sansa lay with one arm draped over him, her face just inches from his. In her quietude she looked impossibly beautiful. He reached towards her face but before he could touch her, she woke. She looked momentarily confused but then a bright smile lit up her face as her eyes met his. He smiled back.  
“Are you well this morning, my Lady?”  
“I am well, my Lord. More than well”.  
She stretched contentedly. Apart from a slight dull ache between her legs her whole body was suffused with a warm repletion. She took one finger and trailed it lazily through the sparse dusting of hairs on Petyr’s chest. Spying the scar she pressed her lips to a spot directly over his heart. His hand threaded through her hair holding her close; he sighed deeply as his manhood began to stir and twitch once again and removed his hand.

 

“Sansa. Right now as much as I would give my life for a repeat of last night, I want you to rest.”  
Ignoring him, she continued to kiss a trail down his body. With a growl he grabbed her chin gently and lifted her face to him.  
“Sansa. I mean what I say. You are still recovering from a very serious illness. I saw how tired you were last night and you slept the sleep of the dead. I will not endanger you further. Luwin was quite clear on the matter. I -”  
“Luwin, Luwin, Luwin,” she pouted, her expression such a study in abject disappointment that he could not supress a soft laugh. 

 

Without a further word, he planted a brief soft kiss on her lips and lifted himself from the bed, quickly dressing himself with the clothes discarded on the previous night. He felt her eyes burning into him and heard a distinct sigh when he concealed his manhood with the underclothes. He chuckled.  
“It is not kind of you to laugh at me so, Petyr.”  
“And it is not seemly for a Lady to stare so unashamedly at a man who is trying to clothe himself but you do not hear me complaining,” he winked at her.  
He was delighted to see a warm soft blush spread across her face; she did not know where to look. She still had some of that wonderful youthful innocence that he was fascinated by – he was glad that the activities of the previous night had not taken that entirely from her and from him.

 

Suddenly cold without his body in the bed, she shivered and grabbed the bedclothes wrapping them tightly around her; Petyr, having dressed in all but his doublet, approached the bed and sat on the edge, reaching over to touch her face tenderly. His loose shirt revealed the very start of his scar as he leaned in to kiss her once more. Her small hand snaked through the opening of his shirt to lay across his heart, gently warming the ruined skin there. This flaw in what was to her an otherwise perfect body had begun to fascinate her; she needed to know its story because it was the story of him. 

 

He stared at her fixedly.  
“Does it repulse you, Sansa?”  
There was something very dark and brooding in his eyes as he asked. She snatched her hand away in horror.  
“No! You must never think that. Nothing about you could ever repulse me. This is part of who you are. Will you tell me about it….not today if you do not wish it, but some day?”  
“It is a long story from a long time ago and really not so very interesting”, he muttered, taking her hand and pressing her palm to his lips.  
“But this must have come close to taking your life?”  
She paled at the thought of the pain he must have endured and wondered at his insistent reticence on the matter.  
He sighed deeply.  
“That it did Sansa. That it did. But as I say, it was such a long time ago and I barely think on it anymore. It is a story for another day.”  
He rose from the bed to retrieve his doublet.  
“I will leave you now to dress.”  
He gave her a brief departing kiss and strode quickly from the room, appearing very much to her as though he was eager to escape.


	12. Chapter 12

He entered his study exhaling deeply as he lowered himself into his chair. That had been a close thing. How was he ever going to tell her about that wretched scar? It would ruin everything, his plans for her, his plans for them, this thing they had between them now. He could not tell her that this ruination of his body had almost been the ruination of him – of his belief in himself as a man. Not because of the physical pain and how close it had brought him to death. Not even the many months of slow and agonizing recovery that had brought him so low. 

 

The agent of his downfall was not even the man who had cleft him from throat to navel without a second thought. He bore the fellow no malice for he would have done the same had his fighting skills only been equal to the task. This scar was a constant reminder to him of the lowest point in his life: his final and complete rejection by the one and only woman he had ever loved, an act so cruel in his eyes that it had threatened to undo him entirely. 

 

Being of lowly birth and small stature he had experienced more than his fair share of shabby treatment from others. But, he understood, this was the one single episode of his life more than any other that had hardened and insulated his heart from the myriad rejections and humiliations that would continue to assail him on his gruelling climb up the ladder of chaos in the years to come.

 

During the intervening years, not one of the countless women he had bedded had managed to truly touch him. None of them had ever found a way through the walls of his formidable defences. Being entirely unswayed by any notion of sentimentality gave him the focus he needed for his long term strategies without the hurdles and obstacles of heartbreak and regret to get in the way. Ironically, the source of his greatest weakness became, in time, the source of his greatest strength. Sansa was critical to his long term plans; nothing there had changed. He could not risk her finding out the whole truth about his past – now was not the time to risk all. 

 

He turned in the chair to Sansa entering the room, her hair and clothes in perfect order, the silver mockingbird glinting against the milk of her chest. He noted that she still seemed very pale and there was a tiredness that lurked persistently around the eyes. He then knew that as much as he had wanted to possess every part of her body again and as much as his own body had protested the deprivation, he had made the right decision. 

 

She walked towards him, rested her hands lightly on his shoulders and kissed him on the top of the head. He hugged her to him, pressing his cheek against her stomach but he seemed pensive and tense.  
“I am sorry if I asked too many questions, Petyr. I did not mean to discomfit you or bring back bad memories.”  
“Think nothing of it, my dear. I am made of stern stuff.”  
“So I have noticed. I will take my rest now. You are right, I am not yet back to full strength.”   
“But,” she added pointedly after a slight hesitation, “I very much look forward to the time when I am.”   
She shot him as menacing a look as she could muster, which is to say, not very menacing at all given the sweetness of her features, but completely disarming nonetheless. He laughed.   
“The Lady has become quite bold. I hope that I have had some hand in that development.”  
“More than a hand, My Lord,” she replied huskily.   
Clearing his throat in amusement and swallowing back a lascivious grin, he rapidly changed the subject.  
“Will you sup with me here later this evening, Sansa? We have some things we need to discuss.”  
“I look forward to it, Petyr.”  
She bent to kiss him lightly before exiting the chamber, closing the door quietly behind her.

 

As she sauntered to her chambers, Sansa ran over their conversation in her head. Despite her happiness, something did not sit right and it nagged at her. Why would he not tell her about the scar? If it was as unimportant to him as he maintained then a short discourse on the subject would have put the matter firmly behind them. No, there was something more to it. His mood had darkened – he had become so reserved and serious in stark contrast to his earlier light heartedness. It had now become an obsession for her; she needed to know everything about this man who she had fallen so completely in love with. 

 

Love. As she sat facing the mirror she studied her reflection. She noticed a difference in the countenance that gazed back at her. In that one night of blissful joining with another, she had become a woman. She was no longer the frightened, lonely little girl that had stepped tremblingly from the carriage on that fateful first trip to the Eyrie. Petyr had given her much. Equally, she acknowledged, he had taken something away. For that she demanded from him complete honesty but realised with a growing disquiet that if Littlefinger were to return to her that would never come to pass. She changed into her nightgown and slipped into bed, knowing with certainty that her sleep, if it came at all, would be troubled.


	13. Chapter 13

Later that day after bathing and dressing, Sansa found herself wandering in the gardens at the rear of the grounds taking in the last dying rays of the sun. She shivered as she stepped lightly across the snow dusted grass, clutching her thick woollen cloak around her. Spying Irine in the distance she took her opportunity and strode over to the older woman. If anyone had knowledge of Petyr in his younger years, it would be Irine who had been with the Baelish house for many years. She also knew that Irine was a proficient and prolific gossiper so she knew that she had the right target in her sights. But the woman’s mind was also sharp – she must approach this cautiously. 

 

“Irine, may I have a word with you?”  
The older woman twirled around to face Sansa, a bright smile on her face.  
“Good evening my Lady? Are you hale?”  
“I am more and more myself every day, thank you Irine for asking. I wished to speak to you briefly of Lord Baelish, if I may.”  
Irine’s smile wilted somewhat and she began to shift nervously on her feet, her eyes darting here and there, never quite meeting Sansa’s gaze directly. She wondered at it.  
“I was walking in the garden and I heard some of the manservants speaking in low voices about Lord Baelish,” she dissembled.  
Irene looked more and more discomfited.

 

“I am sure they meant no harm, my Lady,” she stammered.  
Her natural inquisitiveness finally got the better of her.  
“If you do not mind me asking, what were they speaking of?”  
“It is alright Irine, I am not angered. I probably should not have been eavesdropping, if I am to be truthful. But I am just a little curious about a certain subject that arose of which I had no knowledge. Something about an injury that Lord Baelish sustained as a young man; apparently it almost took his life.”  
Then came her final gambit.  
“They said something about a tavern brawl? That seems so uncharacteristic of him; surely it cannot be true?”  
Her desperate need to discover the truth had emboldened her lies; an altercation at a tavern was the only plausible scenario she could think of in the moment. Sansa searched the older woman’s face for the answer finding only a growing disquiet in her eyes.  
“You have nothing to fear from me Irine. I always keep my confidences,” she encouraged.  
“Very well my Lady. They do not have the truth of it,” she whispered, her eyes wide, “He duelled with another man over the love of a woman.” 

 

Sansa was shocked at this revelation but at the same time, it made perfect sense. It explained, in part, Petyr’s reluctance to speak of it with her. It would be ungallant of him to speak to her of another woman who was obviously an integral part of his former life so soon after their recent intimacy. It was also entirely conceivable that it continued to stir up some very unhappy memories for him. He had after all been prepared to lay down his life for this woman. Such extreme sentiments are not so easily buried. Her heart swelled as she now realised she could not have been more wrong when she had once held him up as an unromantic figure in her mind.

 

“Do you know who this woman was?”  
Irine’s face flushed. She was now visibly trembling as her weight shifted from foot to foot. She almost felt sorry for the old woman, but she had to press on.  
“I…I cannot be sure my Ladyship,” she muttered.  
Sansa was now convinced that Irine knew exactly who this object of Petyr’s affection was but she now became fearful of going too far with her interrogation and provoking the woman’s suspicions. Why did she look so scared?  
Changing tack she asked, “How long ago did this happen?”  
Irine relaxed slightly, as she pondered.  
“I believe that it must be some twenty years gone now. Apparently the woman is no longer in this world.”

 

Sansa digested this information until suddenly a horrible realisation hit her with the force of a hammer blow. Such was the depth of the assault on her being by this completely unexpected development that she could not control herself as she gasped and clutched convulsively at her stomach. She now knew the truth of it and it sickened her to the core.  
“My Lady!” exclaimed Irine. “Are you alright? Shall I fetch someone?”  
Sansa struggled to compose herself. “No, no. I am fine Irine. I think I may have just overdone things today. I should go inside and rest. Thank you for your time. You have assuaged my curiosity.”  
“Very good my Lady. If you need anything, I would be pleased to help.”  
“Thank you. You are very kind.”  
Irine saw her opening to scurry off as quickly as she could.

 

Sansa watched as the back of the little woman rapidly disappeared from her view. Trembling, she made her way back to her rooms. She closed the door and leaning her back against it slowly sank to the floor, one hand over her mouth to smother the cries that were now threatening to overwhelm her. She hoped so desperately that she was wrong, but with a sinking feeling, knew that she was not. Irine’s fear of speaking had confirmed it, as had the timeline she had provided as well as the fact that the woman in question was no longer amongst the living. Now it was so obvious why Petyr was unwilling to speak to her of it. Petyr’s love, the woman that he had picked up a sword for in perhaps the only time in his life, was her mother. 

 

She had not been ignorant of the fact that they had shared a past although her mother rarely spoke of it and then only ever in platonic terms. Sansa had heard snatches of rumours and innuendo, particularly while in King’s Landing, but she could never confirm the details and until now had thought the relationship between them had been greatly exaggerated by those with some hidden agenda or simply out of mischief as the denizens of the court had been wont to do. But it all made sense as the pieces of the puzzle slowly came together.

 

Her mother, the beautiful Catelyn Stark had reached from the grave to steal from her everything she had come to hold dear. Oh how she hated Petyr now; she hated him with every particle of her soul. He did not love her; he was still in love with her mother. Her resemblance to her mother was what had attracted him to her in the first place. Why had she been so blind? When he lay with her, it was her mother’s face he saw, her body he loved with his. She could not conceive of anything different at that moment. 

 

The depth and mastery of his deceit stunned her. The full misery of her situation took hold as she sobbed uncontrollably, her face in her hands, her long hair pooling to the floor. Eventually she began to calm and hauled herself up to sit on the divan in the corner of the room, knotting and unknotting her fingers in her lap, trying to breathe through the last of her sobs. She grasped the mockingbird pendant and violently wrenched the chain from her neck. She regarded it for a moment then flung it across the room to hit the opposite wall. It came to rest forlornly on the floor. 

 

“No more. No more.”  
She resolved there and then that she would never cry another tear for Lord Baelish, for Littlefinger. She knew exactly what she was to him now, merely a consolation prize. Worse, she was nothing more to him but a playing piece to be shuffled on the board of his appetites and ambitions. It was merely a bonus to him that he had a facsimile of his one true love with which to make his plays for control of the North and to use for his pleasures while he hatched his long-term plans. But he was as yet ignorant of her comprehension. She would have to take this small advantage and forge her own sword with which to strike at him. There could only be one winner in this game.


	14. Chapter 14

Sansa tapped lightly on the door to Petyr’s chambers.  
“Come In.”  
When Petyr rose from his desk and walked towards her to greet her, he froze. She wore a silk gown of brightest, deepest cobalt blue, her hair was styled in a cascade of soft wavy curls, so different to her usual straight smooth locks. When the candlelight shimmered across her face, those glittering eyes, the line of her jaw, the slender sweep of her neck, she looked so much like… Catelyn. The colour of the gown was Catelyn’s favourite colour; she had sometimes worn her hair that way on formal occasions. Oh Gods. He shook the thought from his head.

 

“You look exquisite tonight, as always, my dear,” he smoothed.  
She smiled and he was not sure if it was a trick of the light, but her eyes seemed dark, steely, not at all like they usually scintillated and sparkled when she smiled at him.  
“Are you well? Have you rested?”  
“I am well, my Lord. Very well, thank you.”  
Her words seemed measured, her tone impersonal but perhaps she was in truth still tired but endeavouring to hide it from him.  
Taking her by the shoulders, he kissed her lightly on the lips. She hesitated and then returned the kiss but he noticed the tension in her body.

 

“Come with me Sansa, sit with me.”   
Sliding his hand around to the small of her back, he steered her towards the divan. On a small table to the side the servants had laid out a silver tray of fruits and cheeses and a decanter of the mulled wine that Petyr was so fond of. Settling in, Petyr reached for the decanter and one of two pewter goblets.  
“Will you partake of some wine?” he offered, expecting her customary refusal.  
“Yes please.”   
“Can I cut you a piece of fruit, or some cheese perhaps?”   
He picked up a large bone handled knife and started to carve into an apple.  
“No thank you Petyr. The wine will suffice.”  
He ate slices of his apple, watching curiously as she took a first experimental sip of the wine.

 

“I have always loved the smell of this wine. It makes me think of you. It really is delicious,” she smiled.   
She licked her lips slowly and somewhat provocatively, knowing that his eyes were following her every movement with the keenest interest. To his surprise her lips returned immediately to the goblet and took a larger mouthful swallowing it quickly and then reached again for yet another draught. Now concerned, Petyr frowned as he took hold of the hand that grasped the stem of the goblet.  
“Be careful, dear. Too much too quickly on an empty stomach. You are not accustomed.”  
Her whole body became rigid at his touch and then after a moment, she relaxed. She allowed him to set the goblet aside and sat staring off into the distance.

 

He returned the apple and the knife to the serving tray and regarded her with growing consternation. Something seemed off; she seemed cold, aloof and distant. As he examined her he realised something else he had not noticed before. She did not wear his mockingbird chain.   
“Sansa, dear. You do not wear your gift tonight?”   
He trailed a finger across her chest where the absent bird should have been. He tried to keep his tone light and jovial.   
“Have you tired of me already?”  
“Of course not dear. I took it off to bathe. I was rushing because I could not wait to see you and forgot to put it back on,” she replied.  
He relaxed and reached forward to touch her cheek. Was that a slight flinch or did he imagine it?

 

Sansa sat stock still while he traced a line down the side of her face and gently down her throat. He took her chin in his hand to kiss her, first of all feather light but increasing his pressure as his tongue sneaked between her lips to seek out her tongue. The taste of the mulled wine in her mouth, mixing with her natural sweetness was intoxicating. The kiss deepened as he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him but there was something wrong. While her arms moved to embrace him in return, it felt as though she was holding something back from him.


	15. Chapter 15

Shaking off his disquiet, he disengaged with the intent of moving his attentions to her neck. She took the opportunity to reach for him and fumble with the buttons of his coat, peeling it off and throwing it to the floor. His eyes seared into her. She slowly worked at the laces of his white linen shirt making sure that her fingers brushed the skin and the hairs of his chest as she worked her way down. She pulled at the hem to loosen the shirt and pushing it open, moved her fingers with the lightest of touches to the scar. His breath caught in his throat, a part of him instantly knowing and dreading what was coming next.  
“Petyr. I think you should tell me about…this. I know what you said this morning, but I think that it is more to you than you are saying. I want, I need to know everything about you.”  
She continued to touch and stroke his skin as she waited for him to reply. 

 

Petyr hesitated but knew she would not be diverted. He weighed up a number of possible explanations in his mind but settled on a part truth rather than a complete falsehood which in his experience always proved to be the safest option. He took a deep breath and keeping his voice low and steady, began.  
“Sansa. As you well know I am not a fighting man. I like to think that my talents lie in other areas. But when a man seeks to remove from you the one thing you love best in the world, there can only be one possible response. The truth is, I was once in love with a very beautiful woman who was stolen away from me.”  
He paused briefly to let that information sink in but detecting no reaction other than a slight nod from her to continue, he pressed on. 

 

“She was the love of my life; she was everything to me but she was promised by her family to a man of a noble family in a marriage of expedience. I had nothing of worth to offer her except my love, but the Gods be damned if I would merely stand aside and let this man take her away from me. We duelled, and the short version is I came off worst in the encounter.”  
“And what of the woman? You must have been so close to your death. Did she just stand by and allow it to happen?”  
“No, he had every intention of ending my life that day. It would have been his right. She intervened and begged him for my life.”  
That sounded like her mother; her gentleness of spirit had prevailed to save the man who had risked all for her.  
“Then, she did love you,” she prompted.

 

He had never spoken the words out loud to anyone before, so it was with some difficulty that he continued.  
“I had a very tough few months of convalescence. During that time I foolishly dreamed and hoped that the woman I loved and who I believed loved me would fly to my side, sooth my hurts, profess her love for me and we would somehow be together as we should always have been. Every day I waited, but she never came. I was a fool; our love was nothing but an illusion.” 

 

His voice sounded so forlorn at that moment that she nearly broke but she reminded herself of his duplicity and hardened her heart to him as he continued.  
“She never came and every day that passed a little bit more of myself crumbled away. I was as nothing. Felt like nothing. Once I could muster what little inner strength I had left, I wrote her a letter but I never heard a word from her in return. I realised then, that all of our young lives she had only ever loved me as a brother would love his sister. She never felt for me the way I had convinced myself she had. 

 

“I once thought her one of the most gentle and gracious of creatures I had ever met but when she saved my life only to remove herself so completely and irrevocably from it, she could not have done anything crueller. I wished with all my being that my rival for her affections had killed me that day. I had lost everything.”  
Sansa steeled herself as she asked the questions that burned within her. His reply would change their relationship forever.  
“Where is this woman today? Do you still see her? Would I know her?”  
“The woman has now passed; you would not know her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh Oh. Petyr. You naughty man. What HAVE you done :(


	16. Chapter 16

She gasped audibly at the sheer audacity of the lie that tore at her soul with razor sharp claws. She sprang to her feet; he quickly followed suit, not anticipating her sudden movement.  
“LIAR!” she screamed, as she slapped him in the face as fiercely as she could, his head snapping violently to the side, his hand flying up to rub at his stinging cheek.  
“Sansa, I -”  
“No more of your lies,” she screamed at him, her face contorting with fury as she moved out of arm’s reach.

 

“When were you going to tell me that you did all of this to be with HER again? When were you going to tell me you made love to me all the while thinking of HER? MY MOTHER,“ she wailed.  
Petyr froze and then looked down at his feet, his breathing laboured, momentarily lost for words. She took his silence as confirmation of her worst fears and ploughed on.  
“You love her still, not me. I am nothing to you but one of your pawns. No, worse: you have made me your whore. You are less than nothing to me. I hate you. I detest you. You are vile and what you have done to me is a hundred times worse than what my mother did to you. You disgust me. I wish you had died that day,” she cried, hot tears of rage trailing from her eyes.

 

He looked up at her beseechingly, now deeply wounded at the extremity of her loathing.  
“Please do not say these things to me. You do not know how wrong you are. About everything,” he muttered.  
“I do not believe you anymore Petyr,” she railed at him.  
“I swear to you on my life that I do not love your mother. She killed that in me many years ago,” he added bitterly.  
“Are you denying that you are attracted to me because I remind you of her?”  
She trembled with her heightened emotion. He stepped a little closer to her and spoke softly.  
“I do see something of her in you. I do not deny it.” 

 

“However, your mother was never as beautiful as you are. There is no comparison. But it is more than that. So much more. How can I make you understand?”  
He struggled desperately to find the right words.  
“Your mother could be a wonderful woman but I am afraid to say she was also capable of incredible emotional cruelty. Most of her circle did not regard her that way but I experienced it from her first hand on more than one occasion so I can attest to the truth of it.”  
Again he made a small step, slowly closing the distance between them his eyes searching for a way in.  
“Sansa. You are not your mother. Right at this moment, nothing has ever been clearer to me than that. You are kind, sweet, intelligent and generous of spirit, completely incapable of a heartless or selfish act.”

 

She almost believed him, such was the sincerity in his voice and in his eyes but she would not, she could not allow herself to be beguiled by his masterly deceits again.  
“Such pretty words, as always from you, that ultimately mean NOTHING”, she spat. He stretched out his arm to her and she backed away scuffing the backs of her legs against the divan.  
“No. Stay away from me Petyr. Do not touch me. You make me sick. I never want you to touch me again.”  
“Please Sansa, do not do this. Please listen to me.”  
He had taken another step towards her reaching out, imploring her. She needed him away from her; she needed to warn him off. With a wild lunge she reached across to the knife on the serving tray and whirled around.  
“I said get away from me!”  
Suddenly and unexpectedly he was right there upon her. She opened her hand in shock relinquishing her grip on the knife. With a grunt of surprise, Petyr slowly slid to his knees, looking down at his hands which were now tightly clenched around the handle of the knife. It protruded from his body, under his left ribcage, the blade buried to the hilt. Sansa stood transfixed with horror as his widening eyes slowly raised to meet hers.

 

She screamed and collapsed on her knees to face him.  
“Petyr! No. Not like this. I did not mean to. No. I am sorry. Please,” she keened.  
Groaning, his face grimacing in agony, he slowly withdrew the knife and dropped it to the wooden floor, slicked with gore as Sansa cried out in anguish. One hand closed over the gash in his side as he slowly lay back, emitting a deep sigh. Sansa could see the blood oozing from between his fingers, the crimson stain slowly spreading across the front of his shirt. She leant over him and rained small kisses all over his greying face, his now closed eyes. Her tears washed over him as she wept convulsively. Nothing mattered at that moment but the thought of losing him forever.  
“Petyr. Please do not leave me. I did not mean what I said. I love you, Petyr. Please do not die,” she sobbed.  
Petyr’s eyes flickered open but soon began to glaze over, and with what little strength he had left he raised one blood soaked hand to her face and whispered.  
“Forgive me.”  
His hand dropped weakly to the floor, his eyes closed, his head lolled limply to the side as the pain and loss of blood finally overcame him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm. Woopsy?


	17. Chapter 17

“No, no, no, no!” Sansa screamed at him. “You cannot leave me like this. I will not let you.”   
She pressed her ear to his chest and was relieved beyond measure that she could still hear his heart beating but alarmed that it seemed to flutter; his chest moved up and down almost imperceptibly with his now shallow breaths.  
An urgent knocking sounded at the door.  
“Your Ladyship, your Ladyship. Is everything alright?”  
It was Irine who must have heard the commotion as she passed.

 

“Please Irine come in. Hurry. Help me,” she yelled, jerking to her feet.  
Irine burst through the door and came to a screeching halt when she took in the gruesome sight before her. The front of Sansa’s gown was soaked in blood, her hands which she held out in front of her, were painted in it; her eyes were wild, her face wet with tears. Her hair was dishevelled and her cheek was stained with red where Petyr’s fingers had lightly grazed her before he collapsed. Every part of her body shook. On the floor lay Lord Baelish, a pool of blood slowly forming on the floor at his left side, the front of his shirt now completely soaked through.

 

“Gods have mercy.”   
Irine eyed Sansa fearfully and started to back out of the room.  
“I did not mean to hurt him. It was a terrible accident. Please do not be scared. You have to help me. He is losing so much blood,” she cried.   
Irine suddenly snapped out of her trance and scurried to Petyr’s side. She gently lifted his hand from the wound. She grimaced and let out a small hiss as she took stock of the injury.  
“We must stop the bleeding. I will fetch some clean bandages and flannels.”   
“Irine, if we do not get him help he will die. You must have one of the men ride to the village and fetch Luwin at once. We have to pray he makes it here in time. Please hurry.”  
“Yes Lady. Straight away”.   
Sansa would not have believed the woman capable of such rapid movement, as she hurtled with impressive velocity through the doorway.

 

She returned her attention to Petyr. He was so still and peaceful, his face relaxed as though he was in a deep restful sleep. She kneeled and reached out to run her fingers through his hair as she kissed his unresponsive and cooling lips. She placed her hand on his chest to reassure herself he had not yet left her.   
“Please hold on for me, Petyr. I cannot lose you. We have only just found each other.”  
Irine soon returned with supplies in hand and quickly knelt by Petyr’s side, placing a pillow under his head and pressing a large flannel directly down on the wound. She took hold of Sansa’s hand to place it on top.   
“Here your Ladyship. Make sure to apply pressure. I do not know if it will stop the bleeding entirely. It is a grievous wound but if we can slow it until Luwin arrives that may make the difference.”  
“I pray that you are right, Irine. And Irine….thank you. I do not know what I would have done if you were not here.”   
The older woman gave her a wan smile and patted her shoulder reassuringly.

 

Time seemed to move so slowly. Where was Luwin? The waiting was agony. She knew that with every passing moment Petyr moved further and further away from her. Soon he would be completely beyond anyone’s reach. The two women had fallen into silence, each lost to her own thoughts. Sansa brushed Petyr’s ashen face lightly with her fingers from time to time, which was not lost on the older woman who regarded it with more than passing interest. Suddenly the door burst open.   
“Thank the Gods!”

 

Luwin quickly digested the scene in front of him, never breaking stride.   
“What in the Seven Hells happened here?”   
He knelt by Petyr and gently lifted the flannel from the wound assessing it wordlessly. He stared up at Sansa with a questioning quirk of one bushy eyebrow.  
“It was an accident. I swear upon my life. Please you must help him. Please do not let him die,” she implored.  
He studied her pleading face, her eyes beginning to well with fresh tears. His gaze shifted back down to Petyr’s injury and to the large discarded knife on the floor.   
“I must be forthright from the outset. This is very serious indeed. The wound will be very deep. If the blade has struck an organ what I do for him now may all be in vain. We must also worry about corruption of the wound and of the blood. Thankfully, his bleeding has eased. You acted quickly. You have both done well.”   
Sansa wiped at her face with the sleeve of her gown as the tears that had been threatening finally fell.

 

He regarded her again noticing how overwrought she was. Her face was so ghostly pale that he thought he would soon have two patients to deal with. He spoke to her gently but firmly.   
“Lady Stark, I must insist that you remove yourself from the room while I set to work on Lord Baelish. You have not long since conquered your own brush with death; you must not over-exert yourself. You are clearly exhausted. Please allow me to get on with my work without having to concern myself about you also. I will call for you when I know more.”  
As much as she did not wish to leave, she could not argue against his good sense. She reluctantly tore herself from Petyr’s side.

 

“Oh and if anyone asks, it would appear that Lord Baelish may have been ever so slightly in his cups and has tripped and fallen on the knife while holding it,” he added, while shooting a pointed look at Irine who cleared her throat and shifted her gaze to the floor.   
“I rely on the both of you never to reveal to him where that story may have originated as I do think he would appreciate the characterisation and I do not wish to be accused of slander,” he winked.  
Sansa turned to regard him. “Thank you Luwin - for everything.”  
“You have nothing to thank me for Lady Stark. I was put on this earth to save lives. Let us see if I can do so again tonight. You may go also Irine. Please send a couple of the manservants to me as soon as you can.”   
Nodding quickly in acknowledgement, Irine did not need to be asked twice - she scuttled out behind Sansa, exhaling in palpable relief.   
“Pardon me Lady,” she said. “I also arranged for a bath to be drawn for you earlier. It should be waiting for you.”  
Sansa stopped and turning, leaned down to kiss the older woman on the cheek. “You are a very kind and thoughtful woman. Thank you.” 

 

Sansa threw open the door to her room and pulled it shut behind her. She knew she must look like a frightful vision from some fevered nightmare so she studiously avoided looking at her own reflection in the mirror. She peeled off the gown and undergarments which were sodden with Petyr’s blood, wondering as she did so, if that was the last part of him that she would ever see or touch again. She shuddered and gently lowered herself into the water. The steaming wet heat enveloped her as she relaxed further into the tub. She once again wept as she rinsed the remaining blood from her skin and hair and gently rubbed her cheek on the spot where Petyr had last touched her.


	18. Chapter 18

Sansa paced the small room having long since attended to her hair and clothing. Irine had stopped by briefly to remove the blood soaked clothes she had dumped in a corner of the room, another kindness she would be eternally grateful to the woman for, as the sight of them distressed her greatly. The pale grey gown she now wore accentuated the pallor of her face. Her eyes were reddened, ravaged by the tears that she had shed with abandon in the warm comfort of the tub. She stifled every impulse to run back to Petyr’s chambers.   
What was taking so long? Was he……?

 

A knock at the door startled her. She opened the door to Irine’s concerned face.   
“Pardon my Lady. Luwin is ready for you now.”  
“Do you know….is Lord Baelish…alright?”  
“I do not know your Ladyship. They had moved him to his bed and I could not see him from the study. Luwin said naught.”  
The walk to Petyr’s rooms was a slow torturous trudge to the doom of the executioner’s block. With every step she took her heart hammered in her chest; a feeling of sickness pervaded every part of her body. Arriving at the door she stood for a moment gathering her wavering strength, took a deep breath and entered.

 

Luwin was in the process of packing up his medical equipment. He regarded Sansa gravely when she approached and as he walked towards her to close the gap.  
“Please, how is he?”   
Her voice was so small and tremulous. He took her hands in his, and as his silence persisted, her breathing stopped.  
“I believe he will recover”, he stated eventually.   
A flood of relief hit her that was so profound that Luwin was forced to grip her by the shoulders to steady her.  
“You scared me so.” 

 

“Here come and sit.”  
He steered her to the divan. When they were settled he turned to face her.  
“He will survive but it will be a slow recovery and not without danger. He is not yet out of the woods. He was very fortunate that the blade appears to have missed the organs and I have been able to fully close the wound. He has lost a tremendous amount of blood and there is still the risk of corruption. But all in all, he is a very lucky man.”  
“You do not know how grateful I am to you for bringing him back to me. I thought he was….”   
She heaved a sigh and could not continue the thought.  
“I recall having a very similar conversation to this not long since,” he responded.

 

“Lord Baelish will be consigned to bed for a little while I am afraid, but with time and the proper rest, I am hopeful of a full recovery. I will send my assistant, Talisa in the morning. She is an adept at herbal poultices and tinctures. She will attend to his pain and ensure that the wound remains uncorrupted.”   
“An assistant? I did not know that you had one?”  
It was most singular for a village physician to boast an assistant.  
“Yes, a new addition to my practice. A mutual friend of ours has supplied me with better accommodations, new equipment and medicines and a generous stipend in payment for services rendered.”  
She stared at him in amazement. 

 

“May I speak plainly, Lady Stark, although in truth, it is not in my nature to do otherwise?”  
“Of course, please,” she prompted.  
“I do not know what transpired between the two of you and it is not for me to know. I am however satisfied that you truly wished Lord Baelish no harm. If I thought otherwise you would by now be in chains.”   
He saw her shocked expression and softened.   
“Forgive me my Lady. I am not a man known for his delicacy.” 

 

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing.   
“I would leave you with a final piece of information that speaks to the man, if I may be so bold.”   
“Please, go on.”  
“Lord Baelish came to me with his offer on the final day I visited to check on your progress. He would brook no refusal. ‘Take the payment’, he said. ‘It is as nothing compared to what you have given me. If I had all the gold and jewels in the Seven Kingdoms, I would gladly give them to you ten times over,’ he said. He also pointed out to me how essential a good healing service is to the village and that as Lord Protector of the Vale he considered such things directly under his remit. Well, I could hardly argue with that now, could I?”

 

She smiled, blinking away tears, as she considered the depth of Petyr’s feelings for her and his generosity.   
“Thank you for your confidences, Luwin. What you have told me will stay strictly between us. May I see him now?”  
“Yes, but please try not to disturb him. He sleeps and while he sleeps he mends. He will need all of the rest he can get.”  
“Have no fear on that score. I will care for him.”  
“I have every confidence that you will.”  
Luwin rose from the divan and gathering his belongings, threw her a final glance and smile.   
“Good evening, Lady Stark. Do try to get some rest yourself.”  
Good Evening, Luwin. I will try.”

 

Sansa entered Petyr’s bedchamber slowly and quietly fearing she would awaken him but found him to be in a deep slumber. His face was still pale but had lost some of the grey pallor from earlier. She sat by him and ever so gently laid a hand on his chest; his breathing was deep and regular.  
“Oh Petyr,” she whispered. “I was so scared I had lost you. Please do not ever do that to me again.”  
He stirred and shifted, a small groan escaping his lips, but his eyes remained closed, his sleep otherwise undisturbed.   
“Rest my love,” she murmured as she brushed her lips against his and lightly stroked the greying hair at his temples, watching over him as the night wore on. She left him when Talisa arrived a little after dawn. As drab as the woman’s garments were, her ethereal almost elfin beauty shone through. Her eyes were deep brown, her expression kind.  
“Leave him with me, if it please your Lady. I will tend to him now.”


	19. Chapter 19

Sansa left Petyr to Talisa’s skills and retired to her chambers for some well-earned sleep. She had remained awake the whole night, too anxious to take her eyes off him in case he should take a sudden turn for the worse. Exhaustion finally claimed her. When she awoke later that evening it was to the news, from an excited Irine that Petyr had also awoken earlier in the day and was in tolerably good spirits. He had ordered that no one disturb her sleep. She was ecstatic but she restrained herself from running to him, instead striding swiftly down the hallway between their chambers. She remembered her anguish at the last such journey she had travelled and marvelled at how quickly circumstances could turn around. Her heart beat quickly but this time it was not from fear and apprehension.

 

She walked swiftly through the door, making her way through the study to the bedchamber. He was propped up in bed reading a heavy leather bound volume from his library. His hair was mussed and he looked boyish, very unlike his usual carefully constructed image. Her heart swelled as her eyes swept over his form. He had not noticed her approach.  
“Petyr!” she exclaimed. “I have missed you so. I am so happy that you are……”  
Sansa stopped in her tracks. Petyr gave no outward sign of happiness at her presence. He had merely glanced up from his book and slowly and deliberately closed it, placing it beside him on the bed.   
“Hello Sansa. It is good to see you.” 

 

His smile was tight and fleeting, his face a pale blank mask. His voice betrayed no emotion.  
“Petyr, what… what is the matter? Are you in pain?”  
“Nothing is the matter Sansa. The pain is manageable. Talisa is an angel of mercy. Come and sit by me.”  
She eagerly approached the bed, but was still confused by his apparent lack of enthusiasm. As she got closer he reached for her hand and pulled her down next to him. She leant down to kiss his lips but he turned his face at the last moment, offering his cheek instead. A fatherly gesture. She complied, blushing at his obvious rejection of her, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

 

He looked directly into her eyes, his gaze inscrutable.  
“Sansa. I would speak to you about what I think should happen from this day forward.”  
“What do you mean?”   
His coldness and formality scared her.  
“I think it would be for the betterment of the house if we were no longer in each other’s company.”   
She gasped and stared at him wide-eyed. He continued quickly.  
“I have arranged temporary accommodations for you in the village. I will have Irine accompany you. Once I have come up with a more permanent arrangement I will send for you and we will prepare for the next chapter. I am hoping to finalise the details of a marriage arrangement I have been working on for you for some time into a noble house in the North but it could take a little longer to tie down.”  
She stared at him believing that her misery could not be more complete.

 

“Please you cannot do this to me Petyr,” she cried desperately.  
“Do what to you dear? I am giving you what you wanted and what you need. What we both need. You wanted and need to be free of me and so you shall be. Besides this marriage into a powerful family is an excellent opportunity for you. I would not hold you back from it.”   
“Why are you saying these things to me? Please do not send me away. Please do not give me away to another. I do not want anyone else,” she pleaded, tears pooling in her eyes.   
“I know now. You hate me. You hate me for what I did to you and what I said,” she added.  
“What is it that you think you have done to me, Sansa?” he asked softly.  
“It was a horrible accident. I would never intentionally hurt you,” she exclaimed. In a smaller voice: “I am in love with you.”

 

You silly, silly little girl,” he snapped.  
This cut her to the quick.   
“You are too young to know what real love is. The look of utter contempt in your eyes when you spoke to me last night – that was the truth and said everything I need to know about your true feelings for me. But for my part, no, I do not hate you. I could never hate you, no matter what you do to me. I know that this,” he said, lifting his nightshirt to expose the bandaged wound, “was unintentional. But you see, ten such thrusts of a dagger could not damage me more than the words you spoke to me, the way you looked at me. There are many ways in which to harm a person, Sansa.” 

 

Her voice in response trembled, hearing her own words turned against her.  
“I was wrong, so wrong. I did not mean the things I said. I was angry that you lied to me, that you seemed to be only using me for your schemes. I was hurt because I thought you did not love me.”  
“There at least you are correct. I cannot pretend not to care about what happens to you as any guardian would but that is where it ends. I do not love you in that way, I never have and I never will.”   
She sobbed and rubbed furiously at the tears on her face.  
“You are lying. I know you felt something for me when we came together, I know it.”  
“It was your first time Sansa. Naturally it meant more to you than it did to me. It was pleasurable, that I cannot deny, but it was nothing more for me.”  
“Do not say that. Please Petyr. Do not banish me from your side. I need to be here. I want to look after you. I want you.”

 

“Please spare me your solicitudes. I know you feel that you must fly to my side precisely because your mother did not, out of some misplaced sense of obligation, pity, or guilt - I do not know which. But one thing I do know: it is not out of love. Perhaps you have convinced yourself you love me. I cannot say. In any case it is not real. You need to wake up from these childish dreams.”  
“That is not true Petyr. I was so scared when I thought I had lost you and I would be alone,” she murmured, reaching out her hand to touch his face.   
He flinched back and trapped her hand in his, returning it to her lap.   
“Ahh, there then we have the truth of it. If you lost me you would truly be alone in the world. Poor Sansa, her family gone, her home gone. Only one anchor left in the world and now that too is lost. That is not love, Sansa. That is fear and dependence.”   
“That is not what I meant. You could not be more wrong. I -”

 

He straightened and exhaled deeply, his voice firm and steady, his body flinching slightly at the pain in his side.  
“There is no point in dragging out this discussion any further. My mind is quite made up and the arrangements have already been made. Please ensure that you are ready to depart in the morning. I will have the carriage waiting. Do not feel obligated to visit me before you go. I trust you have an enjoyable stay in the village. Now if you will excuse me, I need to take my rest.”   
With that he picked up the book by his side, found his place and returned to his reading, effectively dismissing her. Shaking and weeping she stood and looked down at him, wringing her hands and biting her bottom lip until she drew blood. Realising that it was useless to protest any further, she spun from him and ran from the room. 

 

Once he was sure she had completely departed he slammed the book shut and flung it to the side of the room where it thunked noisily against the wall. He was immediately rewarded with a searing twinge from his injured side.   
“Damn it, damn it!” he yelled.   
His breath became ragged and he felt a tear sting his eye. He knew it was not from the pain in his side but from something else entirely. He blinked it away angrily.   
Do not be a weak fool. This is the way it must be.   
He was destroying this girl; they were destroying each other. His intricately woven plan for domination of the North was slowly but surely unravelling. 

 

He was certain that she was mistaken about her feelings for him. It was exactly as he had said: she had felt an obligation for what he had done for her in the past, guilt that she had nearly killed him, although she was certainly innocent of any wrongdoing, pity at the shabby treatment meted out to him by her own mother and fear that she would no longer have someone to whom she could cling in her time of need. She was also clearly overwhelmed by her first sexual experience, confusing her and colouring her attitude towards him. 

 

Petyr reasoned that it would now be better for them both to focus on his plans for her – she would help him shore up his power in the North by an alliance through marriage as he had originally intended and she would be removed from the danger he clearly posed to her and free to enjoy all of the new opportunities that would open up for her. He could not continue to keep her near, for both of their sakes. He felt a deep throbbing pain where his wound intersected the old scar and was suddenly transported back twenty years to a darkened bedchamber that looked all too familiar. He closed his eyes and wondered why the pain in this much smaller wound should feel so much worse than the first.


	20. Chapter 20

Three weeks passed for the two women in a tedium of meals at the inn and walks around the village and the surrounding woods. Irine scolded the younger woman for seeming to forgo most of the food she was offered.   
“You must eat, my Lady. You are skin and bones.”   
They were seated at a table in the inn, Sansa poking her spoon unenthusiastically into a bowl of broth. She rolled her eyes at the older woman’s exaggeration.   
“You worry too much, Irine. What I really want to do right now is lose myself in the woods and think of absolutely nothing.”   
“Pardon me your Ladyship but I do not think that is a very good idea,” interjected the innkeeper’s wife as she stopped to fill up their water tankards.

 

She was an engaging woman of indeterminate age and usually of very good humour but her face, on this occasion, was etched with concern.  
“Why do you say that, Marian?”  
“There have been reports of a band of brigands attacking neighbouring villages, robbing carriages, plundering stores and ravaging women and children. We must be vigilant.”  
Irine’s eyes widened in fright. Sansa shivered at the thought but considered the possibility remote that they would happen to encounter the group on such a short walk. Besides, Marian conceded, there had been no confirmed sightings of the men yet in the immediate area.  
“We will not go far Marian. I am sure we will be fine. Come, walk with me Irine.”   
The older woman regarded Sansa dubiously but reluctantly complied.

 

It was a short walk to the edge of the forest. Sansa loved the tranquillity – the dappled light on leaf strewn paths, the constant chirruping of birds and the soft whisper of myriad leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. It was her special place where she could forget for a time the pain she felt at her loss of Petyr, although the vision of his face with those mesmerising eyes would come unbidden to her from time to time, even there. Her fingers caressed the mockingbird pendant at her throat as she sighed. 

 

The women reached a bend in the trail, conversing amongst themselves, when all of a sudden a dark presence materialised right in front of them. Irine shrieked, Sansa froze in fright.  
“Well, well, well, what have we here? It must be our lucky day gentlemen.”  
The deep gruff voice rumbled from a tall, leather clad, heavily muscled man with black greasy curly hair that coiled down past his shoulders. A deep cicatrice traced from the outside corner of one eye right down the side of his face to the line of his square jaw. His black eyes glinted with lust and violence as he slowly ran them up and down Sansa’s body. She noticed that there were four other men standing at some distance behind him, all ogling at her similarly. Her legs turned to jelly. Mustering up a courage she decidedly did not feel, she tried to swerve around him on the path, dragging Irine behind her by the sleeve of her dress, but the man stood steadfastly in her way.  
“Sir. Please let us pass,” she quavered.  
“That is not very friendly now Miss. What is your hurry?” 

 

As she frantically considered her next move, his hand shot out and grabbed her by the front of her gown, tearing it at the shoulder. She screamed as Irine backed away.   
“No! Let go of me!”  
He held her fast with one hand while the other groped enthusiastically over her body, much to the delight of his companions who hooted and whistled their encouragement.   
“Hoy, Wellard. Stop a minute.”   
This came from a shorter man standing with his fellows.  
“You are joking, right?”  
“No. Bring her closer can you?”  
Wellard ignored the other man entirely and pushed his hand roughly down the front of Sansa’s gown to grab at a breast. She whined and desperately tried to pull free from his bruising grasp.  
“Wellard! Seven Hells! I will wait my turn, like I always do. Just bring her here for a minute then she is all yours.”  
Wellard sighed as he withdrew his hand.   
“You better not be playing me or there will be hell to pay.”   
He tugged Sansa roughly by the arm over to the shorter man who eyed her suspiciously. 

 

A look of dawning realisation crossed his face as he examined her more closely.   
“I knew it. Do you know who we have here?”  
“No, but I do not much care. Now if that is all, I have something I would rather like to continue with.”   
He shot Sansa’s cleavage a predatory glare.  
“This is the Lady Sansa Stark, the daughter of the late Catelyn and Eddard Stark of Winterfell. When you said this was our lucky day you were not wrong. She is missing from the court at King’s Landing, standing accused of the former King’s murder. There are those who would pay a handsome sum for her return.  
Wellard eyed the smaller man with growing interest but his eyes narrowed in scepticism.  
“How can you be so sure it is her?”  
I hail from Winterfell. I have seen her with her family, from a distance and of course she was younger then, but she is quite a singular beauty. It is her – I am certain of it. I am not mistaken about you, am I, my Lady?”  
When Sansa did not answer he grabbed her chin roughly making her yelp.   
“Am I?”  
“No!” she cried.

 

All this while Irine had been gradually inching her way from the group, frantically planning to escape and fetch help while the men were preoccupied with their prize. As she spun around and attempted to flee, a sixth man appeared seemingly from nowhere and slashed through the air with his blade, catching Irine at the throat. A crimson mist shot into the air as Irine crumpled to the ground groping at the deep gouge, a wet gurgling escaping her rictus. Sansa screamed and struggled against her captors as she watched the woman slowly, inexorably bleed to death before her.  
“Please, please help her”, she pleaded.   
“There is no help for her now, my lovely,” replied another of the men, laughing.  
As if to confirm his statement, Irine’s struggles soon ceased, her eyes staring up into the sky sightlessly.

 

“Now where were we?”   
Wellard snatched savagely at Sansa’s breast.  
The smaller man grabbed his wrist in a vice like grip and hissed, “Not so fast. What sort of a deal do you think we can broker if we return her despoiled, or if you go too far, as usual, and we have nothing left to bargain with at all?”  
The war between the twin titans of Wellard’s greed and lust raged for some moments.  
With a mighty huff he begrudgingly released Sansa but he never took his eyes off her.  
“Come on, let’s get to the horses. We need to move”, said the smaller man. “And I do not care who you are Lady Stark. If you pull the same trick as your friend over there, I promise it will not go well for you.”   
He shoved her roughly as the men began picking their way along the ever darkening forest trail. Sansa glanced back once more at Irine, tears coursing down her face at the loss of one who had become much more to her than a servant.


	21. Chapter 21

“Lord Baelish. Lord Baelish.”  
A thunderous and urgent pummelling assaulted the door to Petyr’s chambers.  
He had sufficiently recovered that he could now sit at his desk to deal with the mountainous pile of correspondence and petitions that had accumulated during his convalescence. The sudden noise caused him to jump, his side twinging painfully in return.  
“What is it?” he yelled, irritated at the unexpected disturbance. He had specifically asked not to be interrupted.  
“Luwin to see you, my Lord. He says it is urgent.”  
“Very well. Please bring him in.”  
One of the manservants ushered Luwin into the chamber, the older man appearing entirely discomposed, not at all like his usual calmly dignified self. 

 

“Lord Baelish. I am sorry to disturb but I am afraid I bear some terrible news.”  
Petyr rose gingerly from his chair and with growing alarm demanded, “What has happened? Tell me.”  
“This morning one of the villagers brought to me the body of a woman he discovered while he was travelling along Darkshade Forest trail. Her throat had been slashed from ear to ear.”  
Petyr stared at him fixedly, hardly able to breathe or to speak.  
“Who was the woman, Luwin?” he croaked eventually.  
“I am afraid it was Irine, my Lord. I am so very sorry.”  
He cried out in pain for the loss of his faithful servant who he had known all of his adult life.

 

It took him some moments to compose himself and to ask the question he most feared the answer to.  
“And the Lady Stark?” he stammered.  
“She has been taken my Lord.”  
“What do you mean taken?!” he exclaimed. “By whom?”  
“By a band of outlaws that is moving through the villages in this area. They are armed, extremely dangerous and their depravity knows no bounds. Women, children, men – it is all the same to them. We must conclude that they have taken Lady Stark with them as there has been no sign of her,” Luwin reasoned.  
“Oh Gods,” Petyr groaned. “What have I done? She was supposed to be safe there. If anything has happened to her….”

 

Petyr paced up and down, running his hands wildly through his hair.  
“What are we going to do?”  
“I have already organised a search party and the word is that the group is headed to Riverfell. Our men are scouting the area to establish their exact whereabouts. I have arranged to meet with them at the tavern as soon as we can get there to see if they have any further intelligence.”  
Grabbing a sword hanging on the wall of his study and a dagger from a drawer in his desk which he slipped into the pocket of his coat, Petyr hurled the door open, grimacing as his wound protested, and yelled into the corridor, “Darin, ready my horse,”  
“Yes my Lord” came an answering cry from the other end of the building.  
“My Lord that would not be advisable. You are not yet fully healed.”  
“If you think for one moment that I am just going to sit here while she is out there somewhere with those sons of whores… If they have so much as touched her I will rend them where they stand.”  
“Alright. Let us go. But you must take care.”

 

It was close to sunset when they galloped into Riverfell, a small village lying six leagues north of the Eyrie. The sky was a canvas of crimson, pinks and brightest oranges but Petyr was not of a mind to appreciate the beauty of it as he lunged from his steed and barged through the door of the tavern. His injured side throbbed and he briefly worried that his wound had re-opened during the gruelling ride but he did not have time to concern himself with it.  
“There”, declared Luwin as he pointed out the eight men from the search party in the corner of the crowded room.  
Petyr stalked over to their table with Luwin close at his heels.  
“Where is she?”  
“We do not know, Lord Baelish,” answered one of the men. “We have searched the entire area but there is no sign of them. They must be holed up in a cottage or a barn somewhere out of sight.”  
Petyr paced back and forth, beginning to panic.  
“We have to think. We have no time to lose. What about if -”  
Before he could voice his musings, the door to the tavern flew open with a bang.

 

“Help me,” cried a young boy of perhaps fourteen years who staggered into the room. His face was a mess of bruises and cuts, his nose broken, his lip split. He had lost one of his front teeth. His arms and legs bore deep lacerations that suggested a recent flogging. Luwin caught him by the arms before he could fall to the ground.  
“Steady now. You are safe lad. Sit here.”  
He pulled out a chair at an adjacent table and helped the boy, gently lowering him onto it. He sniffled and panted, blood seeping from one corner of his ruined mouth. Luwin offered him a kerchief which the boy accepted gratefully.  
“What happened lad, who did this to you?”  
“Six men, robbers, Sir,” he whined as he dabbed at his mouth. “They attacked our cottage and killed my father. My mother and sister…..they….”  
He hung his head and shook it slowly as words failed him. Petyr blanched.  
“After the men killed them, they beat me and they thought that I had lost my senses but I lay still and waited for my chance to run.” 

 

In his desperation Petyr gripped the boy’s shoulder and immediately regretted it as he winced in response.  
“Forgive me”, he mumbled as he removed his hand.  
“Did you see a young woman with them? Tall, slender, long red hair, very beautiful?“  
“There was someone else with them but they were cloaked so I cannot attest to the features. But I heard a cry when they were shoved into my sister’s room – it was a woman’s cry and she was quite tall as I remember.”  
He exhaled in relief. It had to be her. She was still alive. There was still hope.  
“Where is your cottage? I would have you take us there but you are in no fit state to ride.”  
The boy described the location to Petyr and the group. One of the men spoke.  
“I know it. That is not so far from here. We just need to follow the river northward – if we make haste we should be there just on nightfall.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Attempted Rape and Sexual Assault in this chapter

Sansa sat on a hard bed against the wall in a small dark room, her legs bent up in front of her, her arms hugged tightly around them, shivering. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to feel Petyr’s arms around her, warming her, keeping her safe. But she believed that all hope was lost and she would never see him again. Even if by some miracle these men continued to rein in their base urges long enough to return her unharmed to King’s Landing, a sure execution awaited her for the regicide of King Joffrey, a crime of which she was guiltless. A tear trickled down her face as she reached to her chest and tightly clasped the silver Mockingbird in her hand, warming its metal coolness and sadly recalling Petyr’s words when he had given it to her. 

 

She could make out the muffled sound of the men’s banter as they gorged on the food and ale they plundered from the cottage’s small larder. She tried not to think of the faces of the family that had lived there: a man and a woman, two children not much younger than herself. She had watched them beaten, killed, the mother and little girl both raped in front of her, the men laughing all the while as they took their turns. Wellard had taken every opportunity to grope at her while she sat with him on horseback during their journey to the cottage whenever the smaller man was not watching, but she had been left undisturbed since being locked in the room.

 

Suddenly the laughter, yelling and cursing banter from the next room stopped to the metal swish of unsheathing swords and a scraping of chairs being pushed quickly across the floor, then complete silence. She could then hear some sort of commotion outside the cottage – it would seem that the men had moved outside. She unfurled herself and sat on the edge of the bed, straining to hear and make sense of this new development. Abruptly, the door to the room swung open with a crash. Sansa sprang from the bed, her stomach lurching when Wellard’s large form entered the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

 

“Hello pretty girl. Looks like we have company. Thought we could have a bit of fun before they come knocking.”  
“Leave me alone,” she whimpered.  
Wellard stalked towards her and grabbed her by the shoulders of her gown, ripping it violently down to her waist. Sansa screamed as he shoved her roughly onto the bed and quickly lowered himself on to her crushing her under his weight. He captured and held both of her wrists above her head with one massive hand while mauling her throat with his mouth and groping wildly down her body with the other hand as his growing erection bruised against her. He leant down and bit her right breast, eliciting another cry from her as she desperately tried to squirm from under him, but he was too strong. He hitched her skirts up around her thighs and sliding his hand up one leg tore at her undergarments and ripped them from her. He grabbed roughly at her sex. She shrieked.

 

“Why are you not wet for me? Never mind, it will make your screams even prettier,” he sneered.  
“Please, please stop,” she wailed.  
“Oh no my sweet thing. I am going to enjoy every second of this. I am going to fuck you hard until you scream my name. Hopefully there will be enough time to enjoy all of your holes,” he laughed.  
He leered at her, his face mere inches from hers. He began to fumble with the opening to his breeches, releasing his large, already hardened member with a deep groan. She felt it brush against the top of her thigh. Sansa screamed and bucked underneath him as he began to prise her legs apart with one knee.

 

The door flung open with a crash.  
“Get off her now you miserable piece of filth!”  
“Petyr!”  
Wellard froze and then lifted himself off the terrified woman, tucking himself back into his breaches as he straightened. Sansa sat bolt upright in the bed, covering herself with the remnants of her torn gown, eyes wide with fear.  
Turning to regard Petyr, Wellard was all confidence and bluster, no hint of fear in his eyes.  
“What have we here then? Did they actually dare to send the smallest man in the Vale against us? Ha! That is not very respectful. I am going to cut you down little man. Then while you bleed upon the floor, I am going to fuck your little whore over there again and again and again in front of you until she is bloody.”  
Petyr shook with fury as he heard a whimper from Sansa.

 

Wellard’s hand sneaked into the pocket of his breaches. Sansa spied a flash of something metallic.  
“Petyr, be careful, he has a knife,” she screamed.  
At the same time Wellard lunged forward slashing at him. Petyr was caught off guard, the knife tracing a line of blood across his wrist, his sword clattering noisily to the floor. Sansa shrieked. Petyr leaned back avoiding the arc of Wellard’s second sweep, the tip of the knife skimming the front of his coat. As he contorted his body he gasped as an intense tearing pain assaulted his left side, the site of his recent injury. He detected a warmth and wetness spreading through his clothes. He tried to maintain his concentration on the man in front of him but he had temporarily lost his equilibrium. Taking advantage of his opponent’s weakness and distraction, Wellard lunged again, pinning Petyr to the wall by his throat. Petyr desperately groped for the small dagger he had hidden in his coat pocket but he could not reach it. He was gradually weakening from pain and lack of air as he struggled against the much larger and stronger man. Wellard brought his arm back ready to finish Petyr off but suddenly stiffened and groaned, crumpling to the floor in a slack heap.

 

Petyr stared down at his attacker’s prostrate form in complete confusion until he spotted Sansa holding his sword, now slicked and dripping with Wellard’s blood. It clanged to the floor as she stared fixedly at the spreading crimson stain at the front of Petyr’s coat, and then collapsed to her knees.  
“No, no. no. Not again. Petyr,” she whimpered.  
He followed the line of her gaze and then stepping over Wellard, dashed to her dropping down in front of her.  
“No Sansa. It is just my existing wound re-opened. It looks worse than it is. And the slash to my wrist is nothing; it is just a scratch.” 

 

He touched his hand to her dishevelled hair smoothing it; she flinched slightly at his touch but he continued to caress her softly, reassuringly.  
“Are you alright? Did he… did any of them…. hurt you?”  
“No. They did not. He did not. I am…. fine,” she murmured, her bottom lip trembling. Her eyes began to brim with tears as she released all of the terror that had built up inside her. He hugged her to him in a tight embrace, ignoring the pain in his side, as she began to sob violently against his chest.  
“Ssssh. It is alright. You are safe now.”  
He continued to stroke her hair and whisper soothing words, as he waited for her to calm. Finally she stilled but she still clung to him tightly, as though she feared he would vanish like an apparition.

 

“Can you walk, dear? We need to get you home.”  
She did not answer. After a moment he gently disentangled himself from her and stretched over to retrieve the black cloak which she had discarded on the floor of the room.  
“Please do not leave me Petyr,” she cried, as she stretched out for him.  
“I am not going anywhere dearest. Let me cover you,” he said, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders.  
He encircled her waist with his arm and with a quick reassuring kiss to her forehead, steered her out of the room on trembling legs. 

 

It was now dark outside and as they departed from the cottage, Sansa stiffened and gasped as she detected the presence of men in the shadows.  
“It is safe Sansa. These men are with me. Those that took you were dying at their hands as I came inside.”  
Luwin, overhearing this, strode to Petyr and clapped a hand on his shoulder.  
“I have to thank you for what you did earlier. You saved my life.”  
Sansa stared at Petyr wondering what had transpired.  
“I owed you one,” he smiled in reply.  
“Are you alright, my dear?” Luwin enquired of Sansa.  
“I will be when I am away from this place.”  
Noticing the blood stain on Petyr’s coat, Luwin tutted.  
“You have only gone and undone all of my good work. You cannot ride home in this state and the Lady Stark is in no fit condition either. You look exhausted my Lady.”  
She smiled wanly at him.  
One of the other men approached.  
“I have a carriage available. I will transport you both back to the Eyrie.”  
“I will accompany,” added Luwin. “I need to attend to this wound as soon as possible.”


	23. Chapter 23

Sansa had dozed off for most of the carriage trip back to the Eyrie, her head resting on Petyr’s shoulder. He held one of her small hands in his.  
“Is she alright, Lord Baelish? Did any of those bastards touch her?” whispered Luwin sitting opposite.  
“She was not ravaged if that is what you mean but the one in the cottage came very close. If we had not arrived when we did…”   
Petyr shuddered at the thought.   
“And to see Irine slaughtered right in front of her, those other innocent people killed, defiled? Imagining herself to be next. What she must have gone through.”

 

“You must be careful with her. She will be traumatised beyond reckoning and frightened for some time to come, I am afraid, and she may not speak of it. Just keep an eye on her.”  
“Have no fear on that score, Luwin. I am not letting her out of my sight. If I had not insisted that she leave in the first place, this would never have happened to her and Irine would still be with us. You have no idea how that haunts me.”  
“I think I have some idea. But you cannot blame yourself my Lord. Blame the robbers who committed the deed.”  
“Easier said than done, my friend. Easier said than done.”

 

When they reached their destination, Petyr lifted Sansa from the carriage to loud protestations from Luwin that he would do even more damage to himself that would take all night to repair.  
“Allow me,” he offered.   
“No. I want to take her. I will be careful. Make yourself comfortable in the study. I will have some wine brought. I will be back shortly.”  
Such was her exhaustion that Sansa could barely keep her eyes open, her head lolling listlessly against his chest. Petyr strode down the corridor to her rooms and laid her gently on the bed, now groaning with the exertion. He removed the black cape from her and grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed to cover her with. Her eyes were now closed as she drifted slowly to sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed tenderly stroking her hair for a moment, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her cheek. She murmured something but he could not make it out. Otherwise she lay perfectly still.  
“Thank the Gods I have you back. I do not know what I would have done if something had happened to you.”   
He sighed, brushed her cheek lightly with his fingers, and left her reluctantly to her deep slumber. Ensuring the cloak would not be the first thing she laid eyes on when she awoke, he took it with him to be destroyed. 

 

Petyr opened the door to his study to the scene of Luwin readying his medical supplies.  
“I brought these things with me just in case. I am relieved that other than your injury, we had no other cause to use them.”   
“Yes, we were fortunate that we had no casualties amongst our number. I want you to furnish me with a list of their names so they can be justly rewarded for their bravery. They risked their lives for Lady Stark with no expectation of recompense – I will be forever in their debt.”  
“Speaking of which,” Luwin stated, “I have to say again how grateful I am to you for killing those two men that cornered me tonight. If you had not intervened when you did I would not be here to tell the tale. You were extraordinarily quick thinking.”  
“It compensates for my less than extraordinary swordsmanship,” japed Petyr.  
Luwin laughed softly.

 

“And you are not to thank me in any way, Luwin,” he continued. “You have put yourself in harm’s way and assisted us more times than I can count. I am afraid I am racking up a huge debt where you are concerned,” he smiled.  
“Nonsense, my Lord. It is my -”  
“I think after what we have been through together we can dispense with formalities, if you agree. My name is Petyr.”  
“Very well, Petyr. Erhem. This is going to sound rather forward, but as we are now on a first name basis, can I ask you to remove your shirt and stretch out on the divan for me?”  
Stroking his short beard, Petyr sent Luwin one of his characteristic smirks that dimpled his cheek along with an exaggerated waggle of one eyebrow.  
“I thought you would never ask.”


	24. Chapter 24

The next evening Petyr sat in his study, poring over a ledger. He was worried about Sansa and desperately longed to see her. He had fought the urge all day to visit her chambers but did not wish to disturb or distress her. She may well need more time to recoup from the horrific experiences of the previous day. As he tapped a long finger absentmindedly on the table he heard the door creak open and close again quietly behind him. He turned. Sansa stood with her back pressed against the door, a nervous quality to her features, giving him a small quivering smile as her eyes met his.  
“My dear, it is so good to see you. Are you feeling better?”  
She nodded as he walked over eagerly to greet her, his arm outstretched.  
“Sansa, I must speak with you.” 

 

Her expression altered immediately stopping him dead in his tracks – she appeared completely distraught. He thought perhaps his enthusiastic and rapid approach to her had sparked some fearful memory in her.  
“Petyr,” she mumbled, “please do not send me away to be betrothed. Please, I am begging you.”  
Her voice was so small, her eyes pleading.  
“I will not go. Please do not make me,” she whimpered.  
She shivered and hugged herself, her gaze shifting to the floor.  
“Sansa -”  
She looked up and pressed on, her eyes brimming with tears.  
”Why do you still wish to send me away? Why did you even come to find me if you do not care? Did you do it out of a sense of obligation, of guilt, of pity and fear as you once accused me. Or is it just because you need to trade me as a breeding mare for your power plays in the North?”  
“Sansa…..no!” he exclaimed. “The thought of losing you -”

 

She did not hear him; would not hear him. Now she had started she could not contain herself as the dam of her emotions burst.  
“I know you hate me for what I said to you and how I wounded you but when you sent me away it was the worst punishment you could have devised. It was cruel and heartless.”  
“Sansa you must know I would never wish you harm and that I feel terrible for -”  
Sansa would not allow him to continue.  
“When you sent me away it was not cruel because of what happened to me. It was cruel because you took away from me the one and only thing I cannot live without. And that is you. When I thought I would never look into your eyes again, I did not care if I lived or died.”  
Tears started to trail down her face.

 

“Sansa, please do not cry, I do not hate you, I told you that. I could never.” He reached out for her, but she stepped aside.  
“Why will you not believe me when I say that I love you and that those terrible things I said I did not mean. I only wanted to hurt you as you had hurt me. Do you not think yourself worthy of love, is that it? Because of what my mother did to you? Please Petyr. Let me stay and love you as you should be loved. My mother was the foolish one, not you. Please do not do to me as she did to you. I could not bear it.”  
She was now crying hysterically. Petyr sighed deeply.  
“Sansa, stop. You need to listen to me now,” he soothed.  
He stepped towards her again, raising his hands to her face and staring deeply into her anxious, tear-filled eyes. 

 

“I do believe that you love me. I feel it, I hear it. I should never have sent you away. I have not been honest. I was lying to you and I was lying to myself. I never wanted you to leave. I believed that what I was doing with you, to you, was wrong. I am so much older than you. How could you love me? Why would you love me? That is what I kept asking myself time and time again. You are so very young, Sansa – I thought you were confused, your feelings misplaced.” 

 

“All I seemed to do was hurt you and that is something I never wished for. I thought that removing you from me was the right thing to do for both of us. I believed it was what was needed to secure both of our futures. I see now that I was completely wrong and that I had not given you enough credit. You know exactly what you want and you pursue it with all of your strength and spirit, just as I do. You are a remarkable woman and I can only wonder at the fact that you have chosen to love me and thank the Gods for it.”

 

“I know now that there is only one future and that is the one that we forge together. I will never send you away from me again.”  
He took a deep breath.  
“I love you Sansa. I do. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my life. There is only you.”  
“Oh Petyr.”  
He pulled her close, crushing her lips to his, their tongues entwining in a deep passionate kiss. He could feel the wetness of her tears on his face. They stayed like that for some time, relishing the touch and taste of each other until Sansa eventually broke away, looking deeply into his eyes.  
“I was not sure I would ever hear those words from you. That is all I have ever wanted. Please love me now Petyr. I have missed you.”  
Luwin’s words of caution echoed in his mind.  
“Are you sure you are ready? … I mean after what happened yesterday I thought…”  
“I could not be any more ready. I want you now more than I have ever wanted anything. I will not let anyone or anything keep me from you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and we're done :)


	25. Chapter 25

Sansa drew Petyr to the bedchamber where they proceeded to undress each other unhurriedly, relishing the slow but steady reveal as each garment was removed in turn. When they were finally fully unclothed Sansa took Petyr’s hand and pulled him into the bed with her where they lay face to face for some time, their bodies melded together, kissing softly and tenderly. Petyr moved his kisses down her throat and along her collarbone. He lowered his mouth to her breast and stopped short noticing for the first time the mark of Wellard’s teeth imprinted there.  
Sansa registered his hesitation.  
“Do not worry my love, it is not painful to me.”

 

“I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you for what happened. I will never forgive myself.”  
She grasped his chin firmly but gently and gazed earnestly at him.  
“You must not blame yourself Petyr. You could not know what would happen.”  
“Someone else said much the same thing to me last night. But I cannot get it out of my mind. I was beside myself when I thought you were lost to me. I -”  
“Petyr?”  
“Yes Sansa.”  
“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”  
He stared at her and then chuckled. “Frequently, and on this occasion I cannot disagree.”

He leant down to her breast, planting his lips around her nipple, gently slowly swirling and flicking with his tongue. She sighed in pleasure. After a time he removed his mouth and used his thumb to slick over the hardened nipple now wet with his saliva while gradually trailing his lips down her stomach until he reached the thatch of hair between her legs. She had begun to squirm and moan as she felt delicious stirrings in the pit of her belly. 

 

He moved himself down to reach the inside of her thighs, kissing and nibbling upwards ever closer to her sex. She parted her legs, his fingers stroking along the lengths of her folds in feather light strokes, small moans sounding from her. She was already so wet, so ready. His mouth replaced his fingers, planting barely there kisses along her folds and light laps with his tongue, until he reached her nub which he nuzzled with his nose inhaling her scent. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive nub and stroked her sex with his fingers until Sansa cried out, arching her back and digging her fingernails into his shoulders. He moved up her body to kiss her deeply with her juices still on his lips and tongue. 

 

Her legs wrapped instinctively around him to bring him close. His member was hard, his reaction to her pleasure and to the depth of their mutual emotions immediate and powerful. He pushed gently inside her, feeling her tightness, her moistness and warmth. She groaned as she felt the fullness of him inside her at long last. He slowly pushed and withdrew in long rhythmic strokes; she moved her hips finding the rhythm, enveloping him more and more until he filled her entirely. He gradually quickened his movements, and angled to find her sensitive spot pushing, thrusting until he felt her sex clamp and flutter around him as she went over the edge, crying his name. With just a few more extra deep thrusts, Petyr moaned loudly spilling his seed inside her in a warm flood.  
“Sansa.”  
He held her close and kissed her deeply as they luxuriated in their shared bliss, eking it out as long as they could. Her eyes stared into his with such an intense look of devotion that he felt he would melt under her gaze. He finally had what he had always wanted – everything. 

 

Their first act of lovemaking had been unlike any of his previous liaisons. While he had needed to navigate around Sansa’s loss of maidenhood and be ever mindful of her inexperience, he could truthfully say that nothing about that first night was a disappointment to him. He would take that memory to his grave. But this was so different - the rules of the game had changed forever. There was a whole new level of shared intimacy, trust, tenderness and sweetness. It was so natural and real that it took his breath away. When he looked into her face, he could tell it was the same for her.

This time he stayed inside her for a very long time, feeling coddled in her soft warmth. When he eventually withdrew, she did not cry because she now knew he would never leave her and there would be many other moments like this between them. They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms until the dawn broke.

 

FINIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everybody who gave this little fic a go and for all the kudos and comments. I enjoyed reading the feedback and responding very much. Until next time.... <3


End file.
